Turning Back Time
by SosaLola
Summary: Bradley puts himself through the wringer signing a contract with the devil. During An Extremely Goofy Movie, a week after the X-Games.
1. Chapter 1

**Fic:** Turning Back Time  
**Author:** Sosa Lola  
**Setting:** During _An Extremely Goofy Movie_, a week after the X-Games.  
**Rating:** PG 13  
**Notes:** Borrowed Bradley's background from **IZZY-CHAN13**'s fic "Don't Even" and some of his teammates' names from **BothersomeKitsune**'s fic "Raygun SUCK!" Thanks for being awesome, guys!  
**Summary:**Bradley puts himself through the wringer signing a contract with the devil.

* * *

**Chapter One:**

The coffee shop isn't as relaxing as I needed it to be, too crowded, too noisy. James, fellow Gamma brother, arrives with our drinks. He lowers his sunglasses from his forehead to hide his small eyes now that his mission has been completed – it only took a dozen broken coffee mugs and a million hot coco stained shirts for him to learn that lesson. I stare intensely at the liquid in my mug, wincing as the screams grow louder and louder.

I can't pretend to ignore it anymore, neither can my teammates. My tight grip on the hot mug trembles as I glare up at the crowd.

Look at them. Just look at them. Forming a circle around him, surrounding him with unquestionable adoration, feeding his ego to the _max_. He just… stands there with a bashful smile and a faint redness on his cheeks, his hand scratching the back of his neck. Like some down-to-earth, boy-next-door, former-underdog _angel_. Everybody roots for the underdog, they say. But once the "underdog" scores first place, gets all the recognition, turns into the most popular kid in campus, he ceases to become an underdog.

But, honestly, the underdog is nothing but a loser. In reality, everybody roots for the winner. Mr. hotshot, competent and talented, riding his skateboard to the finishing line and winning the trophy. That _freshman_has got it all now.

Meanwhile, all I'm getting are side glances of hate and disdain, sometimes even a shove or two. I seem to have lost the respect I once had, and I have to admit, I have it coming. I've lost it there at the game, sight and sanity; too obsessed with winning I didn't even bat an eyelid when I had blasted Tank into the giant logo. It's a miracle he wants anything to do with me after what had happened – seems that shooting me into the blimp was punishment enough.

Two days after that fateful game, I found him standing outside the fraternity house. All is forgiven and second chances are given. I had to hide my happiness, keep on the mask 'cause the other members were standing behind me, but Tank was able to see it in my eyes. We've known each other since high school, and he'd always been more loyal to our friendship than I was. I don't deserve him, but I'm lucky enough he still wants to hang out.

I watch that cute girl from the store walking over toward the freshman and kissing him on the lips. Faint blush darkens to crimson red, and he ducks his head in that charming boyish manner – oldest trick in the book.

My tongue touches the empty spot where my tooth was, and I feel a vain exploding in my forehead. I can't take this anymore. I need to get out of here. I push my chair back, scraping it on the floor, and start storming out of the coffee shop.

"Brad," Tank yells after me.

I freeze in place, that detested name always rubs me the wrong way. I turn around and raise an eyebrow at Tank's clueless face. "You know damn well I don't like to be called by _that_name."

"Gets on your nerves, doesn't it?"

I flinch and snap my gaze toward Chip, mistaking his comment to be about the name. But then I notice him adjusting his glasses and eying the members of Team 99 with resentment.

Max's idiot teammates are also getting babe attention, not as much as their leader, but enough to drive me crazy.

"Gamma brothers, let's roll."

* * *

I walk around the pool table; holding my stick behind my neck and watching Tank make another successful shot. I survey the red table before making my shot. It hasn't been my lucky day; usually I send the balls with accuracy to their destination. But so far I seem to be missing every shot.

I'm a little shaky after this afternoon at the coffee shop. I'm not sure when the Max Craze is going to wear off, but I imagine it's gonna stick around for a while. It's only been a week since the X-Games after all, the longest and most hellish week of my life. I don't get out much and when I do I regret it instantly. Goof Boy is everywhere I go, sharing my classes, eating at my favorite places, skateboarding throughout campus. It's even worse when his goof of a dad is accompanying him; he always makes a scene when he sees me around. I can't wait for that old fuddy-duddy to graduate.

Finals are approaching, I really wish they're my last, but I've got one more year to go. I'm not sure if I can survive it.

As I lean to make my shot, Leonard's sharp shouting makes me lose focus and miss one more time. I glower at my unaware dark-haired minion who is slapping the textbook on Yowie's empty head. Leonard is putting too much of an effort to help monkey-face study, despite the common knowledge among us that he won't make it. He'll repeat his junior year while the rest of us will be upgraded to seniors.

I scowl when Tank's pool cue sends the colored balls into hiding, several clicks here and there as the rest follow leisurely into the holes.

"Hi there, gang." Slouch walks into the room in his usual brown jacket and gray hat.

I don't remember him with us at the coffee shop today. He must be tired of the humiliation and hate we receive everywhere, but he's not allowed to bail. If the Gammas leader is taking the dirt, everybody else should.

"Where have you been all day?"

Slouch rubs a finger on his stubbly chin. "I went to see my aunt. I told you about it."

"I don't think you did."

"Sure I did. Yesterday at class when everybody threw that surprise party for Team 99."

_Don't remind me, you bastard!_The most humiliating day of my life. I wasn't in on that party, 'cause if I'd known what those jerks were planning to do, I would have skipped class.

Unaware of my raging thoughts, Slouch goes on, "I told you about Aunt Broom-Hilda visiting town for a week."

Yowie burps in excitement. "Oh, isn't she the wizard?"

Leonard smacks him with the textbook again. "You mean _witch_."

"Tomato tomato."

"Yeah, she put up her tent close to campus," Slouch says. "She thinks she'll make a few bucks out of the miserable, lonely and depressed. And after high school, college is the best place to find those."

Tank scoffs, scratching the end of his stick. "Witchcraft, who believes in that?"

"She said she wants to meet my friends." Slouch looks at me, asking for permission. "What do you say, boss?"

I sigh and miss yet another shot. "I don't see why not. It's not like we have anything else going on."

Slouch leads the way as we walk down the street to the gate. I quicken my pace when I hear the faint sound of cheering behind me, it's how I know _he's_close by. I walk past Slouch and urge the others to hurry up after me. Guys and girls on my way start to run past me to see the X-Games Champion in action. Can I once go out without encountering that…?

The air is knocked out of me by a giant bullet crashing against my back and sending me flying across the pavement. I fall flat on my face, bouncing my cheek on the rough ground – damnit, it hurts!

"Oh, Gosh, I'm sorry."

That _voice_. I scramble to my feet, wincing at the stinging in my palms. I look at the little cuts and drips of blood having used my hands instinctively to prevent my fall. Over my shoulder, I see him with his fake apologetic face and his hand extended to help me to my feet.

I smack his hand away and get up by myself, letting out a small hiss of pain when I feel the stinging in my knees. The bastard ripped my favorite jeans at the knees. I give him an aggressive shove back. "You did this on purpose!"

He wipes his shoulder where I shoved him and raises an eyebrow at me. "No, I didn't."

"Are you telling me that the great Max made a mistake at his best event?"

He regards me with a look of disgust before he catches someone behind me and smiles. "Oh, hey Tank."

Tank glances at me in hesitation before answering, "Hi, Max, how's it going?"

"Great. Hey, we should hang out sometime."

A pause – "Sure."

"All right. See ya." Max winks at Tank and then grabs his skateboard and rides it to the opposite direction, completely dismissing my existence.

I give Tank a look of offense. "Hang out?"

"Look, Brad, that kid saved my life…"

"I told you never use that name!" I snap, fighting the urge to shove him, too – 'cause I won't be able to do it anyway. Besides, I need to keep what's left of my dignity.

"Why not?" he snaps back, "What's wrong with it?"

I lift up my hands in surrender. "You know what, if you wanna be Goof's friend, be my guest. But _never_step a foot in the Gamma House. Are we clear?"

* * *

Did I just kick Tank out of the Gammas? Ruining the only healthy relationship in my life, the only _real_friendship? And for what, for some witless freshman I shouldn't be bothering with in the first place. That son of a bitch is ruining my freaking life, been doing so ever since he came to this freaking college. Now, there's no way Tank will forgive me after this. I have no clue why he'd even forgiven me before. This one is obviously the last straw. And now I'm completely alone. Thanks a bunch, Max Goof.

I snap out of my gloomy thoughts and stare past the crowd to a large blue tent made of a thick material. Man, this crowd is almost as big as those at the X-Games, and now my blood is boiling with rage at the memory – I should block that frigging game out. It isn't good for my health to keep remembering that disgrace.

Slouch pushes those who are standing in our way with such ease, making an empty line for us to cross.

The tent on the inside is prettier than on the outside, doesn't even look like a witch's tent. Bright colored materials hanging everywhere, pretty vases with flowers in them, and the orange and yellow striped couches make a homey sight. I breathe in the fresh aroma of roses wafting from the scented candles on the round table in the middle only to be disturbed by a delicious smell coming from another room.

Slouch's aunt walks in with a plate filled with fresh baked cookies. My stomach rumbles quietly, I haven't eaten a thing at the coffee shop this morning due to the disturbance of a certain goof.

"Hi, Aunt Broom-Hilda." Slouch waves, a drool slides down his unshaven chin. "It's me again."

"Hello, dear." She places the plate on the round table between the candles and wipes her hands on her purple dress. Pulling out a chair, she drops on it with a huff, tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear and then places her hands on her large stomach. "Oh, those fine gentlemen are your friends?"

Slouch and the rest of the guys are hypnotized by the cookies, looking like they haven't eaten in weeks. "Yep, we're all members of the Gamma Mu Mu fraternity."

He reaches for a cookie but Aunt Broom-Hilda slaps his hand away. "Introduce them to me first, dear," she says with a stern glint in her eyes.

Slouch rubs on his hand. "Right. Sorry. Uh, this is…"

"Wait." I raise a hand to stop him. "If aunty is such a powerful witch, she'll know our names on her own."

Aunt Broom-Hilda scratches the pimple on her large nose and arches an eyebrow at me. "Who is this ill-mannered young man?"

"Our leader. Bradley Uppercrust the third."

I lift my chin up in pride.

She twists her lips, one of her hands rubbing circles on her tummy. "Such an air of arrogance on this one. I fail to see why considering you lost your status as the X-Games King to some freshman…"

My eyes snap wide in fury. "How did you know?"

"Bradley." Leonard pokes me on the shoulder and shows me the college newspaper with a large picture of Max on the first page. On top of the picture, "New X-Games Champion" is written in giant letters.

I snatch the newspaper and smack it on the round table causing the candles to wobble. I point a shaking finger at the woman who is looking back at me with a nonchalant stare. "You're nothing but a phony. I'm not gonna stand here and take any more of your crap."

I spin around and bark at my men, "Gammas, follow me."

I'm startled by a breeze flowing by me and ruffling the hairs on the back of my neck. Then, unexpectedly, a sharp wind blows on my sides and throws my Gamma brothers out of the tent. The door zips shut after them and the only source of light is coming from behind me.

I whirl my head back and struggle for breath when I see replacing the plate of cookies a magic glass ball with bright light shining from its center. Thin wrinkly fingers are hovering over the ball. I look up and flinch at the sight of Aunt Broom-Hilda's face. Skin turned green, eyes coal black, and silky, black hair has fallen down to her shoulders.

"What the…?"

"You," she says in a croaky voice. "You, my boy, obviously need me."

"I don't need you. I don't need anyone."

"So, you're telling me you don't despise this one?" She moves her hands in circles around the ball and the white light morphs into an image of Max Goof. "You wish he never stepped a foot in this campus. You wish you never met him in your life. He stole away your fame and glory and left you with nothing."

A muscle in my jaw works as I stare at Max standing on his hands on his skateboard and sliding down the railing through the cheering and whistling of his groupies.

"I can put things back on track. Fix the damage."

I look up at her hideous face. "What do you mean?"

She holds up three fingers. "I'll give you _three_chances to change the degrading events of past, present and future. All you need is to sign this." She brings out a scroll and unrolls it showing big paragraphs written on it with tiny, tiny letters.

"What's this?" I lean down and narrow my eyes, trying to read those ant-sized words.

She smacks a knife on the scroll, making me jump with a shriek. "You sign the contract with blood."

"What the hell?" I yelp in a high pitched voice, already heading for the door. "Oh, no. No, no. I'm outta here."

"Then I suggest you better get used to a whole year of being second best." She nods at the magic glass ball showing Max surrounded by beautiful girls. "This kid will have more success next year."

"How do you know?"

Her evil smile widens and her black eyes gleam. "I know. I see." Green hands moving around the ball in circular motions and the scenes shift yet again. I see Max skateboarding with Tank, the scene shifts to Max winning next year's trophy, and then it shifts to Max in _my_ robe inside the Gamma House barking orders at _my_Gamma brothers.

My chest tightens and my lips tremble. "I don't believe this."

Now Max is wearing the Gamma's black and red uniform standing shoulder to shoulder with my teammates facing Team 99 and their leader who is _me._

"This is a lie!"

"My ball doesn't lie. You want me to show you incidents of the past?" There's an evil glint in her eyes. "Year 1991?"

I think back to what happened that year and then flinch, my whole body reacting violently at the memory of that night. My dad. His belt. My tender body.

I snap out of the painful memories and look down at my bleak future. "How can I stop this?"

"The only way is to make sure your rival doesn't ride a skateboard ever again."

My heart drops to my butt. "You mean _kill_him?"

She gives me a look. "That's not what I meant. Obviously. I'm a witch, not a murderer."

"Then what?"

She smirks. "Magic."

I stare into her coal black eyes. "What's in it for you?"

"A hundred dollars."

"That's it?"

"Didn't you see that crowd outside? Spell potions are easy and cheap, and if I raise the price, I won't have customers."

"And what's my role in this?"

"Sign the contract first."

I swallow thickly and look at the ball, biting down a groan when I see myself holding up a towel to Max. I turn my gaze to the knife, its blade glistening under the ball's light. I look between the knife and my pathetic self staring resentfully at Max rubbing the towel on his hair. Beads of sweat gather in my forehead and slide down to my cheeks. I bite my lips and grab the knife, the blade shaking against my skin. I take a deep breath and push the knife into my flesh, hissing as pain strikes in my finger. I use my thumb to squeeze a drop of blood and make it fall on the empty spot where my signature should be.

"Yes!" she exclaims, her eyes sparkling with joy, making me regret my decision. She snaps her fingers, and the scroll disappears at once.

I suck on my bleeding finger and watch her pull out a large book of spells from the closet and place it on a stand. Flipping through the pages, she stops at a page and hums while tapping on her wide chin. She goes back to the closet and brings out a cauldron, and with a finger snap, fire is lit in front of the book stand. She hangs the cauldron on a hook that appears out of nowhere and pours a gallon of water into it. The water starts boiling instantly. She hums, reading the book and then starts throwing all kinds of things into the cauldron.

I can easily hear my heartbeat jamming in my ears. What in hell did I put myself into?

Aunt Broom-Hilda walks over to me with a necklace. "Now if anything goes wrong…"

"Goes wrong?" I snap at her.

"I'm not saying it will. But that's why you've got three chances. If at first you don't succeed, try again twice."

She holds up the necklace and slips it over my head. I take the golden moon into my hand and run my thumb over it.

"Wear this necklace and never lose it," she instructs. Grabbing my chin, she directs my gaze toward the magic ball where I see three golden suns dancing in circles around each other. "Where he lives you'll find the golden sun, attach it to the moon to break out of the first spell and into the second. And later out of the second and into the third. And if you screw up your third chance, attaching the sun to the moon will undo the third spell."

I blink down at her. "You mean it can all be a bust?"

She shrugs. "It depends on you, my boy."

Walking over toward the cauldron, she stares down at the bubbling green liquid and nods in satisfaction. She holds something long over the cauldron, letting the smoke curl around it. I spot inscribed symbols on the stick and suddenly feel very scared.

Aunt Broom-Hilda starts chanting in a deep, haughty voice:

_"Blood on sheets to seal the deal  
Turn back the time for him to heal  
Three is the key  
A good fortune to thee  
One: change is up to him  
Two: his past rewrites itself,  
And three: when all is dim  
The clock turns back  
And he'll leave no track."_

She plunges the stick into the cauldron and lets out a shrill cackling laugh that scares the heebie jeepies out of me. Blinding, white light starts shooting out of the cauldron and forces me to shut my eyes. I block the light with my arm and let out a loud scream as I feel shivers running down my spine. I keep on screaming, shouting on top of my lungs, too scared to open up my eyes.

"Mommy, why is this man screaming?"

I stop shouting at once.

"Don't look at him, honey, or you'll end up like him."

I remove my arm and blink my eyes open. I see the mother dragging her son behind her as she races down the pavement away from me, the boy looking back at me in wonder.

I look around me at the simple houses with small fences and basketball hoops on the garages. The frigging witch has zapped me into the suburbs. I look around me in fear and confusion, unsure where I am and what I'm supposed to do here.

Someone smacks against my back and knocks me to the ground. _Not again!_Pain explodes in my chin and I grunt in annoyance. My palms, knees and cheek are still hurting from the earlier smack down by Max the goof. I hear a whimper next to me and glance at the kid lying on the ground, pushing himself up with his gloved hands.

I rise on my knees and hiss when I feel them stinging. "Watch it, you little rat!"

"Hey, who are you calling rat?" The kid whips his head up to glare at me.

I fall back on my ass, my wide eyes focusing on the face before me. This kid… this kid looks exactly like Max. The hair, the ears, the furious glare, and that upturned skateboard lying next to him. _Time turns back... change is up to him._

It's all up to me. She sent me back in time to make sure Max Goof never rides a skateboard ever again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two:**

I stare intensely at the young face before me, completely taken over by shock. My mouth hanging open for what seems to be an hour that my throat has already started to dry out. I close my mouth and open it again, then repeat the action like some dense fish. I just can't take my gaze off of the familiar scowl on the more youthful face. _Max,_ as a kid, crashing into me with his skateboard just like his older, more annoying self. But this is not the issue, the real issue is _I've traveled back in time!_ How creepy is that! I've traveled back in time with a mission like some hero in a science fiction movie. I'm the freaking _Terminator_! Or more accurately Michael J. Fox from _Back to the Future_, now that one was a great movie. Except _this_isn't. This is neither a movie nor great. All I know is that I'm sent back to change the past, but then what; will I poof back to the present time when my mission is over? I wish I had asked that lunatic witch more questions.

I hear the heavy panting of an overweight kid riding his skateboard toward us. "We're sorry, sir. Please don't kill us. Or hold charges. Or worse, tell our dads."

This is Max's droopy friend in a blue jacket and a hot pink turtleneck. Shorter and smaller, but still as apprehensive as ever. He helps Max up to his feet, the latter still supporting his familiar scowl – always the angry fellow I see.

"Well, I'm not sorry. He called me a rat," Max says in the raspiest voice I've ever heard. Boy, is he short! He's a lot of inches shorter than his little buddy. Heck, he's so short he's the same height as I am sitting up.

I search around for the Pauly Shore clown. "Hey, where's the third lack-brain?"

"Hey!" Max snaps.

His friend frowns. "Third?"

They haven't met him yet, apparently. I've always suspected PJ to be the real BFF. He certainly seems more level-headed than that other dork, which is what Max desperately needs. A person who can put him back in his place whenever his dickitude takes over.

I get up to my feet, the pathetic part of me enjoying how I'm looking way down at Max while he needs to crane his neck to look way up at me. I glance at his skateboard and snicker. "You beginners, need a few tips on how to remain _on_a skateboard?"

"Beginners?" Max exclaims in offense. "I was born on a skateboard."

I cross my arms and throw him a smug smile. "You don't say."

PJ pokes the tiny Goof. "Uh, Max…"

"Not now, Peej, don't you see I'm fuming?"

"Yeah, but the new _X-Men_comic, if we don't hurry up, the issue will be sold out."

I walk toward the overturned skateboard and flip it back on the wheels. I put my foot on it and press with my toes, feeling it underneath me. I remember the flashing scenes inside Ursula's magic glass ball, Max and his various skateboarding tricks. I don't think he learned all of them at this young age. There has to be a way to make him doubt his talent somehow, push him to focus on another hobby.

"I bet you can't skateboard when you're standing on your hands."

"Sure I can. Watch."

Max steals his board from underneath my foot and demonstrates with skill how to skateboard on his hands. I watch him with resentment as he crosses the street then takes a couple of rounds around the mailbox and eventually rides back toward us. He flips to his feet on the skateboard and lifts up his hands in victory.

PJ applauds him like the loyal lapdog he is.

I bite the inside of my cheek and think back to the scene in the magic ball. "How about on your hands sliding down the railing?"

Max scoffs and waves me off. "Child's play."

PJ steps closer to him and whispers in his ear, "You've never done it before, Max."

"Shut up, _he_doesn't know that." Max smacks his gloved hands on his mouth when he notices my smirk.

PJ grabs his elfin friend by the shoulders and tries to shake some sense into him. "Why do you care about what he thinks? It's not like he knows his way around a skateboard."

"Allow me."

I use my foot to pull the board out from under Max's feet, causing him to fall back on his butt. I stand on it and jump slightly, trying to get comfortable with a skateboard that isn't mine. I'm probably not as much of a pro as Goof Boy, but then, beating Junior here isn't exactly my plan.

With a naughty grin spreading across my face, I look up at the crowd on the other sidewalk and start rolling toward them. I lose myself in the mass of people, bobbing and weaving through them before I speed up away from the two idiots. I hear Max shouting something from afar, but it gets lost in the noise of the crowd. He must have realized what I'm doing.

I notice a woman inside a shop opening the door and I slide inside before she walks out. I hide behind a rack of dresses and watch through the glass as Max flies on PJ's skateboard past the shop.

I hurry out and ride the board to the opposite direction, hoping I won't come across PJ on the way. Looking back over my shoulder to see if Max is following me now, suddenly…

Smack!

Thud!

Unbearable pain!

"Freaking _guh_…"

I smacked against a hot dog cart.

"Watch it, clumsy pants!" yells the fat, sweaty man with a fly on his nose behind the cart.

"Sorry, sir!" I jump to my feet and give the man an apologetic bow, then tuck the skateboard under my arm and walk away.

Okay, so I'm back in time, now all I need to do is get my facts straight so that I can think of the appropriate next move. First things first, I need to know what year is this. From the looks of it, Max appears to be eight or nine, so this is probably the late eighties. 1988? 1989? I can't just assume based on Max's appearance. I better see it with my eyes.

I walk past a man sitting on a bench and reading a newspaper. I freeze in my tracks, take a step back and grab the paper away from him. The man starts to protest, but I ignore him and stare at the front page. _Spoonerville Times. February, 25th, 1992._

The man snatches his newspaper back from me as I start wandering away, scratching my chin. _1992!_I was about thirteen at that time, which makes Max eleven. Hmmm, 1992, what happened and didn't happen so far? Bill Clinton isn't the president yet. Princess Diana is still alive. Will Smith is still young and funny. Boybands and pop princesses haven't taken over the music industry yet. No Realplayer, no Yahoo, no smartphones, and Monopoly is the hot stuff.

Now, how to make Goof Boy give up skateboarding? I can't just show up randomly from time to time like some children stalker, I'll most likely get arrested. I need to be part of his life somehow. Maybe find a job at his school – a teacher or a councilor, won't that be fun? But without a degree or a résumé, how can I find a job in anything? I pat my pocket and feel my wallet inside where my ID and money are. With an ID that says "born in 1979," how the hell will I get a job in 1992? They'll think I'm a freak, especially since I look nothing like a thirteen year old boy. The bitch sent me back in time and didn't think this stuff through. They probably don't need an ID or a degree if I applied to work as a janitor.

I frown at the sight of a man mowing his lawn in the house across the street. He looks familiar but I can't place him. Suddenly, the lawn mower strikes out of control and drags the man after it, spinning around at a high speed. One more spin and the man flies across the lawn and crashes into a tree house, letting out a scream I know more than my name.

I stare at the tree house for a short minute of uncertainty, but all my doubts are confirmed when I hear that ridiculous laugh.

So, this is Max's house and that's his father. I didn't get a chance to look closely at him through the flying and spinning.

An evil idea sparks in my head and I start running across the street toward Max's house. I catch Goofy climbing down the ladder and throw Max's skateboard over the fence. When he reaches the ground – here goes nothing – I clear my throat to catch his attention.

"Uh, Mr. Goof?"

"That's me." He twirls around and grins at me – looks much younger than I remember him. He's probably in his late thirties.

I scratch my temple as I think over my insane idea. This is going to be tricky. I need to make sure I don't get caught. "Uh, is Mrs. Goof around?"

Goofy's face droops into a gloomy pout. "Oh. No, she passed away years ago."

_Perfect!_ I mean, um, I shouldn't be happy someone else's mother is dead. _I_of all people should know what that feels like. But, it's perfect for my case.

I pretend to be disappointed and a little bit crushed. "That's… too bad."

Goofy lets out a despairing sigh. "Did you know her?"

"Hardly. She was my mother."

His eyes bulge out of their sockets. "Your _what_?"

I try my hardest to hide my anxiety, so I lower my gaze to my finger running circles on the white fence – avoiding eye contact makes it easier to lie. I fold my arms around me to look pathetic. "She… was married to my dad for three years. When they got a divorce, dad took full custody of me."

I don't hear a response, which increases my anxiety. He's not as stupid as I thought, unfortunately.

Suddenly, he takes a hold of my chin and lifts my gaze up. He looks closely at my face, and I swallow thickly, especially when he reaches up with his finger like he wants to jam it in my eye. He, instead, taps my nose.

"You've got the same tiny nose. The same blue eyes. Almost the same hair color." He lets go of my chin and before I can breathe a sigh of relief, he pulls me into a tight hug over the fence. "Oh my God, you're Penny's son!"

"Penny," I say in a strangled voice, trying my hardest to breathe. "Right. That's Mom's name."

Goofy lets go of me and gives me a crushing "pat" on the shoulder that almost knocks me to the ground. "Weird she never mentioned you before."

I cough and rub on my back, glaring up at him. "She probably wanted to forget all about… uh, the painful past." I rock my brain trying to come up with more convincing lies – he _is_as stupid as I thought, fortunately.

I throw my hands up dramatically and pace around like a lost lamb. "Gosh, my dad died three months ago and we were drowning in dept. We had to sell the house before he died. I have no place of my own, and with Mom being dead too, I guess…" I let the sentence hang and plant a brave, little smile on my face and then I wave goodbye. "Good to know you, sir."

"Wait a minute!"

I soften my smirk into a pout of sadness and turn around to face him. He jumps over the fence, waving a finger in resolve. "No son of Penny is gonna go around homeless." He places a gentle hand on my shoulder and leads me into his yard. "Welcome home, son."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. Uh, where's your luggage?"

"I, um, lost them. They're on their way to another city right now."

"Ah-yuck, happens to me all the time."

I smile back politely as he walks me over his yard and into his house. Small and average, clearly lower-middle class, with old furniture that clash in color with each other and a ridiculous moose's head sticking up on the wall. But something about the house makes it homier than the big mansion I grew up in. Probably the various pictures of Max and his dad and the simplicity of the décor: seems like a nice house for a child to grow up in.

"You've got a lovely home, Mr. Goof."

"Thank you… uh…"

"Oh, we haven't been properly introduced. I'm Bradley Uppercrust."

Goofy shakes my hand with extreme delight, crashing my bones in the process. "Ah-yuck, Goofy Goof, enchante!"

I wrench my hand out of his tight grip and whimper when I see it literally throbbing.

"Dad, I've had the worst day of my life!" Max's voice comes from outside loud and whiny, piercing my ears. "I need my ketchup spaghetti fix."

Goofy laughs in excitement and smacks my still sore back one more time. "Oh, that's Maxie. My son." He stands at the entrance, blocking my view. "Hey, Maxie, guess what? You've got a brother."

"What?!"

"Oops. A half brother. Sorry."

"What did you do, Pop?"

"Nothing. Ah-yuck. He just dropped in."

"Right, a stork just dropped him off on our door step."

Max walks in with his hair messed up, his face bruised and his clothes dirty and ragged – probably had a few accidents trying to catch me on PJ's skateboard. He snaps out of his miserable state the second he sees me, and that dear old scowl is back.

"You?!"

I wiggle my fingers. "Hi."

"You scum!"

Goofy smacks his hands on his cheeks in shock. "Max!"

The kid grabs his father's arm and points at me in fury. "He stole my skateboard, Pop!"

I part my lips in offense. "I didn't steal any skateboard."

"Yes, you did!"

"Maxie, I saw your skateboard in the yard. I told you to take care of your toys or they'll leave you."

I stifle a laugh, and Max's face boils red. "Daaad, I swear he stole it!"

Goofy shrugs. "It's outside, son. Go see for yourself."

Max disappears outside in a flash. I wish I could see the look on his face when he sees the skateboard in the yard. He marches back in, pointing the finger of death at me. "You put it there!"

"Now, Maxie, I was there when he came over. His hands were empty."

I wiggle my eyebrows at him, urging him to stomp his foot on the floor like the little kid he is.

"He did steal it, Dad. Honest!"

"C'mon, Maxie, this is not the way to speak to your brother."

Max's eyes bulge out more in fear than shock. "_He's _my brother?"

"From the same mother. Ah-yuck."

"But, Dad, you told me Mom was a year younger than you. How old was she when she gave birth to _him_?"

Shit, I forgot that Max is smarter than his dad! I glance at Goofy, and oh boy, he has his thinking face on. Scratching that bump on his head and looking like he has constipation. I need to think up something fast!

I face the older man, my shoulders sagged, my hand brushing pathetically on my arm, and my gaze focused firmly on the floor. "I lied to you, Mr. Goof," I confess in the saddest voice I can muster.

Max snaps his fingers. "Uh-huh! See?"

"I'm an illegitimate child." I squeeze my eyes shut, pull my fingers in a tight fist and rest my forehead on it. "Mom had me when she was still in high school. And the man who raised me wasn't really my dad. My real dad was a high school loser who wanted nothing to do to me. I didn't know about any of this until the man who raised me, whom I consider my real father, fell ill with cancer. It was then when he told me the whole truth."

I place my palms flat against the wall and hit my forehead against it in a dramatic gesture of pain and despair. I glance at my audience, not surprised at all to see Max rolling his eyes and shaking his head. His father, on the other hand, has a pool of tears in his eye sockets. He lets out a wail and then smothers me into a crushing hug.

"You poor boy! Don't worry about a thing! We'll be there for you!"

"But, Dad…"

"No buts about it, Maxie boy! This is your half-brother and you should treat him with respect."

Even though my bones are screaming for mercy, I can't help the forming smile on my lips. I definitely should win an Oscar for this outstanding performance.

* * *

I take a sip of the hot chocolate that Goofy made for me – having eaten all the marshmallows already. I'm standing by the kitchen window and staring out at Max and PJ inside the tree house. Their expressions sparkle with attractive mischief that captures me. PJ hands Max a telescope and the latter starts looking through it at the neighbors' yard.

"So, Bradley, how old are you?"

I startle at Goofy's sudden question, the mug almost slipping to the floor, but I clutch it with both hands. I walk over to the table, place the mug on it and take a seat.

"I'll be twenty-one two months from now."

I look at Goofy's back standing by the oven to make Max the spaghetti he had asked for earlier. "I suppose you go to college?"

I brush a hand through my hair and answer without hesitation, "Oh, no, I dropped out."

Goofy looks back at me over his shoulder, his eyebrows furrowed. "You did?"

"Yeah, my grades started to slip after my father got sick. Now that he's gone I don't feel like going back."

"You have to graduate college. There's nothing more important than education."

I give a heartfelt shrug and take another sip of the hot chocolate. It's funny how the lies keep slipping out of my mouth so easily, particularly when I can't back them up with anything. Sooner or later, they're going to figure things out, and then I'll be royally screwed.

I return my focus to the window, finding it easier to escape the horrors of reality by looking at the innocence of youth. Outside, I see a pretty little girl walking over toward the tree house, her hair and clothes soaked wet. She's yelling something up at the boys and receives a water balloon exploding on her. The poor thing runs out of Goofy's house crying her eyes out. PJ's head pops out of the tree house's window, looking freaked out – the girl is probably his kid sister and now she's going to tell on the meanies.

The gentle hand clasping my shoulder takes me away from the amusing shenanigans outside. I look at the gloved hand squeezing my shoulder and then up at Goofy's tender expression. Weird feelings start swarming inside of me, forcing me to look away and shrug his hand off of my shoulder. I hear him pulling out a chair for himself and sit on it.

"Bradley, look, I haven't told anyone this, but I've dropped out of college, too."

"Oh?" I pretend to be mighty surprised, though even if I didn't know about this already, I'll still be flabbergasted this guy even finished _pre-_school.

"I couldn't take the pressure. My life was a wreck in my final year."

I stare at his sad face for a minute, working this out in my head. "Was it because of Max?"

He looks a tad too surprised at what I said and starts shaking his head hard. "Oh, no. I went to college in the middle seventies. Max was born in 1981."

I nod and drink some more, enjoying the way the hot liquid cascades down my throat. When he doesn't say anything further, I look at him and wish I didn't. There's something about the way he looks at me that makes me really uncomfortable – like he cares about me or something.

I look away again and hear him chuckle softly at my discomfort. "The point is," he goes on. "Leaving college was the decision I regret the most. I don't want you to make the same mistake I did. You've got to have a college degree."

I purse my lips, having no energy to make up a convincing excuse for my reluctance to go back to college. But energy or not, I need to change the subject somehow with a topic that will make Goofy forget about college once and for all.

"Mr. Goof, do you have a picture of my mom?" _Yes!_Painful memories of his late wife are the best distraction.

With a bitter smile, he pats my back and rises up on his feet. "Oh, I'm sorry, son. I lost all the pictures when our old house combusted." He goes to check on our dinner and then opens the drawer on top of the oven. "I do think I hid some of them old pictures here somewhere."

He starts flinging different objects behind him. I try my best to duck and escape everything he throws, but a pan comes out of nowhere and smacks me on the forehead.

"Why lookie here, ah-yuck, here's one when we were in the city. This is Max and his friends." He walks over to me with two pictures and shows me the one he talked about, but all I see is a younger Max standing in front a big poster with a natural view.

I rub on my aching forehead – this is gonna grow into a nice purple bump – and frown at the picture. "Exactly where are his friends?"

He points at the three trees on the poster behind Max. "Mike, Jimmy, and Matty."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Well, he didn't really have any real friends until he met PJ."

I wince at the spark of pain when my finger touches the sore spot in my forehead. "How come?"

Goofy shrugs. "Guess it wasn't 'cool' to befriend the kid who lives in a trailer."

"You two used to live in a trailer?"

"For four beautiful years. We were way closer back then."

Obviously. With Max's inability to make friends due to his financial status, he'll be spending more time with his dad. I wonder why that never happened to me though. I didn't have friends growing up, but Dad and I remained distant. The fact that I've been imprisoned in my own house for sixteen years ought to make me spend more time with my old man. But since he always had a bottle of beer in his hand, needless to say, his company was best to be avoided.

Goofy shows me the other picture he found in the drawer: him and Max sitting on a ping-pong table inside the trailer with a birthday cake on Goofy's lap. I've never seen happier people in my life, though they were poor and alone, they had each other and it was enough.

Max's bedroom is the basic definition of a dump. I don't think I've seen this much _crap_in my life: books on his bunk bed replacing the pillows that are perched on the bookshelves above the bed. His clothes are a giant pile next to his desk except for the shirt hanging from his ceiling fan. All of his drawers are open with lots of trash sticking out, including a teddy bear.

I grab the stuffed little thing, a scornful laugh bursting out of my mouth. "There you go, little bro. Can't sleep at night without this!"

I toss it to Max standing by his desk. He catches it and looks at it, his cheeks burning red. "This was mine when I was a kid."

"And you still have it." I cross my arms and wiggle my eyebrows – 'cause he really hates it when I do it.

Max opens his mouth to protest when his father walks in with a bundle in his hands. "Oh, you're introducing him to Old Stuffed Bear? Max can't sleep at night without him."

"Figured as much," I say knowingly.

"Dad." Max covers his face with his teddy bear in embarrassment. Realizing what he's doing, he dumps it into a drawer and punch it shut. However, on reflex, the drawer burst out due to the massive junk inside and crashes down on Max's toe.

The kid lets out a painful scream and hops up and down as I laugh my guts out.

"Bradley, since you lost your luggage, you can wear my PJs for the night." Goofy hands me a pair of fluffy purple pajamas covered with smiling dolphins.

I blink down at the hideous thing and fight the urge to hurl them out of the window. "Gee, thanks, Mr. Goof. But I think I'll sleep in my clothes."

"Don't be silly. Take them off and let me wash them for ya."

"Oh, no, not necessary…"

"Pop, I think my big bro needs a little push." Arms crossed, Max is leaning against his bed's wooden ladder, a wicked glint in his eyes. He blows on his fingers and then rubs them on his chest. "He's shy, you know."

Goofy laughs with delight before his happy-go-lucky expression switches into a look of pure evil. Both father and son approach me with devil horns on their heads.

I jump backward into the wall, looking between them fretfully. "What? What is it?"

They pounce at me and strip me out of my clothes, managing to do it with great speed through my fruitless struggles. They slip me into the new fashion-disaster garments in a wink of an eye.

Goofy tosses my old clothes to his son. "Search his pockets. Don't wanna ruin something while washing them."

Max stuffs his hand into my pocket and his face blossoms into a wide grin. "Radical, a fat wallet!"

I jump on him and yank my wallet out of his death grip, but it slips out of my hand and flies to Goofy's. He opens it and looks inside – what in hell? This house lacks in the manners department. He pulls out my ID and grins. "Ah-yuck! You're a photojenny feller, aren't you?"

"Give me that!" I snatch my ID and look down at it – holy cow! What? _Born in May the 13th 1971!_ Some of the facts like my place of birth have changed. _How_… did Aunt Broom-Hilda do this?

Goofy places his hand on my arm and looks at me with worry. "You look shocked, Bradley? Is everything all right?"

I blink out of my shock and smile. "No, everything is pitch-perfect."

* * *

So, what exactly did happen? Is this another reality where I'm older than I really am? What other changes did that sneaky old witch make? If I call my house, will _I _be there? Maybe an exchange occurred and young-me was sent to the future to take my place. Maybe in this reality my father is a stand-up guy. Maybe my mother is still alive! Something inside swells a little as I nix that last idea. Obviously, Aunt Brook-Hilda just did a few tweaks to make my existence in this timeline possible.

I hear the mattress above me creaking, clearly Max is unable to sleep with a strange dude in his room. Throughout dinner, the brat kept investigating my life for what seemed to be hours that the food in his plate had gone cold. That ketchup macaroni was surprisingly delicious – who knew Goofy can cook?

Max tosses and turns some more, and I, as any good older brother, can't let the opportunity pass without engaging in rich brotherly conversation.

"So, Max, what was Mom like?"

Silence greets me for a moment that I start thinking my question won't be answered.

"I don't know," comes a grumbled respond.

"You don't know?"

"She died right after childbirth, so I never knew her. Dad doesn't like talking about her. Too painful, I guess."

He talks in a voice stripped out of emotion that kind of makes me feel a tad sorry for him. I can't picture my life without knowing my mother; the memories of her were what kept me going throughout my childhood and teen years. The memory of her smile, the scent of her perfume, the softness of her touch, all carved in my brain for years and years to come. Max never experiencing a mother's love means that I win one over him after a series of failures.

Which brings me to the point of my being here: crush Max Goof! Make sure he doesn't beat me in the future and ruin everything I've worked for and accomplished. Can't waste my time sympathizing with him.

I think of something horrible to say, something to break the kid a little. "So, you killed our mom?"

Max scoffs. "Ha, very funny."

"No, really. If she had avoided _that_pregnancy, she'd probably still be alive." I catch a framed picture of Goofy on the kid's desk and decide to kick him where it hurts. "Your dad's face when we talked about her was heartbreaking. Losing her must have destroyed him."

I try to detect a sound but I hear no movement, so I keep going, "The whole thing brought back all the painful memories. The poor guy. It was particularly sad how he had to drop out of college in his final year for you."

Max peaks down at me with wrinkled eyebrows. "That's not true."

"He told me that earlier today," I reply to the disturbed face above me. "Just think of everything he had to give up for you; his wife, his friends, his college degree."

As I note the mixture of wounded emotions reflected on Max's face, I go for the final blow, "If he'd graduated college, he wouldn't have lived in some trailer for four years."

Eyes lock, intense feelings of mutual hatred passing between us. I hold his pained gaze with a cold stare, blaming him for the death of "my mother" and the unaccomplished life of his father. When his lower lip twitches slightly, he disappears out of my sight. I strain my hearing to catch the little sniffles and hiccups, but then Max starts climbing down the ladder.

"Where are you going?"

He doesn't answer me, just scurries out of the room and leaves the door open. I'm a dead man if he tells his daddy on me. Let him do it for all I care, that sad pathetic look on his face was worth it.

* * *

I square my shoulders, trying to get comfortable in the shirt and vest Goofy had lent me this morning. I just hope he didn't destroy my outfit in whatever cheap washing machine he has in the basement. Grimacing at the still wet plate in my hand, I resume my work drying it with the damp towel – who knew drying the cutlery is so freaking hard?

Now that I live here I have to get accustomed to chores and taking care of myself. I've never done anything of this sort before, even at the Gamma House I had my minions cleaning up after me. This was the first time I had to make the bed and clean the mess that was Max's room.

Speaking of the little brat, I haven't seen him all day. I don't remember him coming back to bed last night seeing as I dozed off while he was away, too worn out by time travel and what not. I would have slept like a lug all day hadn't it been for Goofy attempting to mow the lawn again while fighting with his neighbor. It's _Sunday_, why would anyone wake up early and work on a Sunday?

Anyway, Goofy was still his cheerful, carefree self, which means Max didn't tell him a thing about our conversation last night. The only thing keeping me sane during this boring chore are thoughts about Max weeping in the bathroom all night.

A sudden kick on my leg sends the plate in my hand crashing on the floor. I turn around and flash my furious eyes down at Max's angry face. "See what you did? I spent hours drying that."

He drags a chair out, hops on it and bitch slaps me on the cheek. "You liar!"

I touch my stinging cheek with a grimace. "What?"

"I had to dig up Dad's high school diploma from the attic." He grabs me by the collar and slaps a high school certificate on my face. "It says he graduated in 1972, which means he dropped out of college in 1976, and that's five years before I was born."

I burst into a gale of laughter, kicking the foot of the chair and causing Max to fall on the floor. "Well, Maxie, I'm impressed. You can do your math, little brother. You deserve some candy." I crouch on the floor next to him and ruffle his hair like a little puppy.

He smacks my hand away and jumps to his feet. "Why did you lie to me?"

I straighten up and grab another wet plate to dry. "'Cause you're my kid brother and I like to mess with you."

"But that was cruel, the work of a devil."

"Oh, c'mon, I've seen what PJ did to his little sister yesterday. Now _that _was the work of a devil."

"It's not the same."

"Oh, it is. Siblings like to play pranks on each other. You and I need to catch up."

I place the dry plate in the drawer and bend down to pinch his nose a little too painfully – serves him right for the kick and slap earlier.

He seems to ponder on what I just said before a naughty smile forms on his lips. "Oh, I'll prank you good."

I wink. "We're gonna have to see about that."

"Boys!" Goofy calls, walking into the kitchen with more than five grocery bags. Some of the things he bought begin to drop out of the bag, but knowing his father's ineptness, Max hurries to catch each item before it falls onto the floor.

Goofy drops the bags on the table, some oranges begin to roll out of the bag toward the edge of the table. I fall to my knees and start catching each falling orange, while Goofy babbles on in unawareness, "I invited Pete and his family to have dinner at our house. I want them to meet Bradley."

Placing the oranges into the bag, I chuckle nervously at Goofy. "Oh, sir, I don't have anything to wear." I'm certainly _not_going to meet strangers in Goofy's clown outfits.

"Then you and Max should hit the mall. I'm gonna be busy making dinner."

I notice a little twinkle in Max's eyes and realize that he's planning on pranking me at the mall. Well, bring it on, little brother, for King of Pranks was my most known nickname among the servants back at the mansion. Let the war begin!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three:**

I browse through the shirt racks at the Gap, a shopping store not up to my standards, but the only one I can afford since Aunt Broom-Hilda stole all the credit cards in my wallet. She left me with nothing but six thousand dollars cash. Better spend this money wisely until I – gulp – find a job. Goofy said something about his neighbor owning a used-car dealership, maybe I can find something doable there. By doable, I mean easy and little work, 'cause if this guy is supposed to be Goofy's best friend, then I'm assuming he's as dumb. I can probably sway him with a "love thy neighbor" line and earn my money by slacking off all day.

Nodding my head to a very old Nirvana song rocking the shop – which I'm aware, is the newest hit in this timeline – I shake my head in disgust at the grunge look dominating the clothes around me. All these flannel shirts and acid wash denim jackets and jeans, damn the fashion in the early nineties is horrid.

I jump back when a pair of torn jeans starts shaking and a creepy voice shrieks, "Pick me! Pick me!"

I roll my eyes. "Very mature, moron. Quit it or I'll rip your dangling ear off. Both of them."

Max's head pops out from between the clothes. "Is that what I get for helping you out?"

"You can help out by standing still and shutting the hell up." Lips twisting with disgust, I use the tips of my fingers to hold the pair of jeans by the waistband. "Show me the nutjob who's gonna waste his money on this crap."

Max jumps out of the clothing rack and lands on my foot. I let out a pained grunt and force down the urge to throw him across my lap and spank his tooshie, it's not worth it to get in trouble for publically disciplining a child. The sight of his sneakers makes me slap my forehead and groan in exhaustion. "Would you _please _tie your shoes? You think you're going for a rebellious look, but all you do is increasing your chances of falling on your face."

"Aw, I love how much you care about me."

I yank a hair out of his head, children rights be damned. "Your shoestring could get stuck in the escalator's conveyor for all I care. Just stand still beside me so I can pick some clothes."

"Fine," he grumbles, stuffing his hands in his pockets and sulking quietly next to me.

I heave a sigh of relief and start flipping through the clothes in frustration. It's been an hour since we arrived to the only decent mall in this tiny town and I haven't bought a thing. Kid brothers are a lot of work! There's no prank in the book this kid didn't do – I particularly didn't enjoy the one with the Whoopee Cushion.

He's rocking back and forth in his place, whistling the Ninja Turtles theme song. When he notices me looking at him, he flashes his white teeth at me, forming a not-so-innocent smile. At least he's not doing anything. Time to focus on the mission at hand.

Okay, clothes, let's see. Dinner with the neighbors tonight, what type of clothes should I wear? Looking at their house from outside earlier – not to mention the giant boat and fancy car – I can tell they're doing better than us. I need the appropriate outfit for tonight, not too fancy and not too casual, and obviously the Gap is the wrong place to go.

A kid bumped into me by mistake trying to run away from the other kid chasing him. He doesn't even apologize as he continues fleeing from his giggling little buddy. Which reminds me, I whip my head to the spot Max "was" standing in, and big surprise, he's not there. Where the heck did he go?

I notice a shiny coin on the floor and let out an unimpressed scoff, not gonna fool me with an old trick like this. I step over the coin and walk toward the next shirt rack – more ugly flannel, I need to get out of this store.

All of a sudden, heaven sends an attractive brunette my way. She brushes against me as she walks, and all thoughts about leaving the store vanish from my mind. She bends over – oh, yeah! – and picks up the un-glued coin from the floor. _What?_Someone actually dropped a coin on the floor?

Her beautiful curls swing as she turns around and holds up the coin to my line of sight. "Is this yours, sir?"

Ignoring the coin, I look at her closely, feeling the suspicion inside me growing strong. Could this be the prank? Did Max team up with this woman to make a fool out of me? Or maybe there's no prank to begin with. Maybe Max has run off to a toy store or something. Maybe he's lost in this tiny mall – he's eleven you idiot, not _three._But still, maybe this is a real ticket to heavenly bliss. A chance to get something out of this hellish experience.

A poke on my arm distracts me from the angelic face of a possible date. I turn to the poker about to rip him in half, except my tongue tangles on itself when I see the grim face of the security officer.

"Sir, may I search your pockets?"

I glance at the woman with a nervous chuckle, mentally raging at the man for busting my one chance at a true happiness. "Is something wrong, officer?" I ask with a cool, confident voice.

"I've been told you snuck a bra into your pocket."

"A bra?"

The pretty woman giggles, turns around and swings her hips away. I try calling after her, but the cat bites my tongue when I catch the little monster snickering outside the store.

The officer's hand goes into my pocket and pulls out a lacy orange bra. "Sir, you're gonna have to pay for this."

"I did NOT take it! It was th…" I point at the glass but, conveniently, Max has already disappeared. That damn little weasel!

After paying for a bra I would never wish on my worst enemies, I search around for the brat. How the hell did he sneak that bra into my pocket without me feeling it? And can we please stop it with the practical jokes? I get it. Lying to him last night was probably a little cruel, and the two pranks on the way to the mall were uncalled for, and maybe shoving him against the old lady who swatted him with her purse was pushing it too far, _but_none of that compares to what he just did. I vowed to spend my money wisely, and that was a hundred and thirty dollars gone to waste.

Oh, there he is, giggling quietly behind the ATM machine. I march toward him and pull on his ear to get his attention.

He yelps in shock, but bursts into a full blown laugh when he sees my face.

"You dweeb! I should have known you'd sink this low, pulling a Dodger on me. Only in reverse."

"Who?"

"Of course. How could someone like you know a thing about a _famous _Charles Dickens novel?" I crouch in front of him until we're face to face and fix my hard stare on him. "If you pull another prank, I'll mail you to China where they still have child labor, do you understand?"

I don't know if it's the angry look in my eyes or my firm tone or even my lame threat, but his eyes widen with fear and he gives a quick nod. Pleased, I straighten my back and frown down at him. "I've got some shopping to do. And you're carrying my bags."

* * *

"Wow!"

Max stares in fascination at his clean bedroom and neglects to thank my hard work, of course. It had taken me hours to turn this dump into a decent room, which to Max must look like a five stars hotel room. For my troubles, the kid tosses the bags that contain my new clothes in his trashcan and rushes toward his desk.

I get them out and glare at him as he takes one of the sharpened pencils out of the _Number One Son_ cup. He tests the sharp tip with his gloved finger and nods in satisfaction, putting the pencil back in the cup. Then, he brushes a finger on the shiny surface of his desk and holds it up to his eyes, giving another nod of approval. I roll my eyes at his Miss Minchin impression – I won't be shocked if he doesn't know who that is either. What do they teach these kids in these rotting public schools? A kid who doesn't know _Oliver Twist_, is this what our generation has come to?

I open the empty closet and sit cross-legged on the floor in front of it, taking out the few clothes I bought from the bags. Since Max isn't using his closet, I decide to make it my own. I hear the brat's impressed whistle and glance at him, sitting on his bed and admiring the arranged books on the shelf.

He jumps down the ladder and strolls toward his wooden chest. Reaching to pull out a drawer, he skips back when his clothes burst out like a blast of confetti in an unwanted surprise birthday party.

"Hey!"

"I jammed your junk in there," I explain casually, "You don't expect me to fold them and arrange them inside the drawers, do you?"

Max puts his fists on his hips and lifts an eyebrow at me. "You could've at least not let them suffocate in there."

I hold up a shirt in front of him to see. "Watch me as I fold my new clothes and place them very neatly in the closet. The trick is to put the folded shirts on top of each other. Just like this." I demonstrate with the couple of shirts I bought, point at them and throw him a charming smile.

"Haha, I'm sure I'll pass out from laughter any minute now," his voice drips icicles, but he starts collecting his clothes from the floor. I should be awarded for being such a good influence.

I take out my new boxers and tank tops and touch them with undying affection, mentally singing goodbye to Goofy's fluffy pajamas. I haven't bought much and in a way I feel a sense of pride for spending less than a thousand dollars today. These clothes may not be hot quality, but I can live on them for the time being.

"Check this out." Max pulls out a shiny object from the baths of rumbled clothes. "How much money do you think it's worth?"

My heart almost gives out as I stare at the circle-shaped gold in Max's hand covered with small, strange engravings. I draw out the necklace hidden inside the shirt I'm wearing and realize that Max is holding the gold sun, my only way to escape this timeline.

"Give me that!" I leap at him like a lion onto his prey, but my prey jumps back and holds on tightly to the key to my freedom.

"It's mine. I found it in my room."

"_Our _room," I correct, tackling him again.

Max slips between my parted legs and climbs up to his bed. "Hey, finders keepers!"

"It's mine, but I lost it." I crane my neck to look up at him, desperation clear in my voice.

"It wasn't in your clothes."

"I lost it when I was cleaning _your _crap!"

"So, you really want this, huh?" That glint in his eye, that son of a bitch thinks he owns me now. Unfortunately for me, he does. The jerk places the gold sun between his fingers, blowing on it and wiping it with his thumb. "How much would you pay for it?"

_Nothing, you scum!_ I've only got five thousand dollars and I'm not wasting them on this elf. Besides, who knows where I'll end up next? That is, _if_I get my hands on the gold sun.

"Max, quit playing around and give it to me."

"But it's mine."

"Yeah, right! See this?" I show him my necklace. "They go together."

Max looks between the sun and the moon, noting the similar engravings. Feeling the knot of frustration in my chest loosening up, I take a couple of careful steps forward. "It fell off my necklace into your drawer while I was cleaning," I say slowly, as if talking to a wild animal that may bite if I approach it too fast.

"I saw your necklace yesterday when we changed your clothes and there was no sun in it."

He smirks. I fume, resisting the strong urge to stomp my foot. "Obviously it's mine. It goes with the necklace."

"How would I know you didn't steal the necklace like you stole my skateboard yesterday?"

We narrow our eyes at each other before I let out an exasperated growl and jump on my bed, boosting myself up to his bed. We wrestle on his bed for a minute, then drop down to my bed. Pinning him down, I try to free the sun from his death grip, realizing that I'm fighting a losing battle.

"Give it to me, Max!"

"No!"

"I'm telling your dad!"

"Go ahead."

"Mr. Goof!"

Goofy whistles his way into our room, but stops in place when he sees the cat fight. A question mark pops on the top of his head.

I point at Max and poke his nose hard. "He took my sun!"

Another question mark pops on top of Goofy's head. "Your sun?"

"Yeah, it goes with the necklace. See? Every moon needs a sun."

Goofy crosses his arms and gives his son a stern stare. "Maxie, give him back his sun."

"Sun?" Max blinks in fake innocence. "What are you talking about?"

I punch his head. "The gold sun, you dolt! Give it now!"

"Bradley, violence isn't the right way to get what you want. And there's no need to use that sort of language."

"But he took it!"

"I didn't take anything, Dad. That's not how you raised me."

I grab him by the collar and blow dragon breath on his face. "You hid it, right? Where is it?" I search his pockets, under his shirt, in his hair. "Is it here? Or there?"

Strong hands clasp my shoulders and drag me back away from Max. "Bradley, calm down. I saw your moon necklace yesterday and it had no sun."

I point at Max, struggling to free myself from his father's grip. "That's because he took it!"

Max blinks his puppy dog eyes at Goofy. "I don't know what he's talking about."

I try my best not to explode, counting from one to ten and feeling myself relaxing. I pry Goofy's hands off of me and slap my forehead. "I just remembered that I'd packed it in my luggage. God knows where it is now."

"Oh, that's unfortunate, Bradley. C'mon, maybe helping me step on tomatoes would lift your spirits."

I follow him out of the room, and then peek inside to see if Max will bring out the gold sun. Still sitting on my bed, he's whistling innocently.

"This isn't over," I grit my teeth.

* * *

I strut down the stairs like some dashing supermodel, rocking a white polo shirt and a pair of khaki shorts. To keep with the nineties fashion, I tied a blue sweater around my neck. I have no clue if what I'm wearing is appropriate enough for our neighbors, but at least it's the closest thing to normal. Max thought the look was boring and suggested chain wallets and mood rings. I'm sorry, Maxo, but looking at what _you're_wearing I won't be caught dead taking fashion advises from you.

My peacock walk gets interrupted by a sleeping Waffles that appears out of nowhere. I step on the stupid animal and my walk of pride turns into the fall of shame.

"Are you all right, Bradley?" Goofy jumps to my side in an instant, slapping my cheeks to numbness.

I push him away, trying my best to muster a polite smile. "I'm all right. You don't need to fuss over me like a mother hen."

He gives me that warm smile again, so I clear my throat and look around. "Uh, where's the kid?"

"At PJ's." Goofy springs to his feet and extends a hand for me.

I let him help me up. "At our guests' house?"

"Oh, Bradley, they're family." The doorbell rings, and Goofy twirls around in happiness. "Oh, they're here. Let them in, would ya, Bradley?"

I nod, wincing at the sight of a grown man skipping as he dances toward the kitchen. I head for the door, and before I get a chance to open it, Max and PJ burst inside and knock me down to the floor. They miss my intense glare as the race up the stairs.

"Hi."

I turn to face the little girl I saw yesterday outside the kitchen window, her big blue eyes flicker over me in dissatisfaction. "I'm Pistol. I was so excited when I heard that Maxie has a brother but I see now that you're too big to be fun. I wanted a little brother to play Dolly, Dolly, who's got the Dolly with me, 'cause PJ is getting too big for everything in my room. So, excuse my dis-point-mint."

I blink throughout her babble-fest. "Your what?"

"Pistol-kens, why don't you go and help Goofy in the kitchen?" I turn my gaze toward the woman speaking, but it freezes at the stunning sight of the curviest hips I've ever seen. "Hi, Bradley, is it?"

I try my best to unfreeze my focused gaze on the woman's hips and turn it up toward her face. "Um-uh, the, uh, whoa…" I blink my eyes several times and succeed in breaking the ice, only to have my gaze freeze again at the woman's full breasts.

I let out a helpless groan, squeeze my eyes shut and then spring to my feet exactly the same way Goofy did earlier. I open my eyes and cast a bashful smile at the gorgeous woman before me. "Hi… this is the sound I was going for."

She rolls her eyes – she must come across a lot of perverts like me – and hands me a glass platter filled with pastries. "Nice to meet you. I'm Peg, Goofy's neighbor."

"The pleasure is all mine." I do my gentleman part and carry the platter toward the kitchen, but out of the blue, Goofy's arms fly out of nowhere and knock it out of my hands. It spins in the air, spraying the delicious pasties all over the place. The platter falls on Goofy's head and he wears it as a hat with a laugh.

"Ah-yuck! Hi-ya, Peg."

Peg giggles with delight as if her hard work hasn't gone scattered all over the living room.

Goofy searches around and scratches his head. "Where's Pete?"

She sighs. "It's one of those days, Goofy."

"Oh, how low did he stoop this time?"

"Not as low as the time before last time."

"Your husband won't be joining us?" Now it's my turn to feel some dis-point-mint. I was looking forward to discuss business with the only business man I know in this timeline.

She smiles at me like I'm nothing but a naïve little boy who knows jack about the world. "It's a bliss. Trust me."

Goofy drapes his arm around her shoulders and leads her to the kitchen, grinning at me. "Why don't you call the boys, Bradley? Dinner is ready."

I hang my head in boredom and drag my legs upstairs, hearing the idiots' prattle inside the bedroom. I kick the door open and clap my hands like a kindergarten teacher collecting children after recess time is over. "Move it, you bozos…"

I eat my words when I see Max flipping the gold sun sloppily to PJ who flips it back as carelessly. Face boiling with anger, I rush toward the smaller goofball and grab him by his thick hair. "What the hell are you doing with my gold sun?"

He kicks me in the nads. "_My_gold sun, until you pay for it."

My face twists up as an excruciating pain explodes in my manhood; the idiots' scornful laughter isn't helping at all. I kneel on the floor and try to breathe, feeling the pain wearing off gradually. Suddenly, tiny feet jump on my head and knock it down, and the most irritating voice exclaims, "Gold sun! This is the mostest beautiful thing ever! Can I play with it? Can I? Can I? Can I?"

"Pistol, this is not a toy," PJ yells at his annoying sister.

"You don't let me play with anything!"

"'Cause my things are not toys either!"

"But you promised to let me play with your new video game!"

"You don't know how to play with it!"

"Then teach me!"

"I taught you a gazillion times and you still stink!"

"Oh, I hear ya," I interrupt their quarrel with a knowing look, now leaning against the closet with my arms crossed over my chest. "Today I had to show Max how to fold his clothes." I kick the chest and a drawer bursts out with crumbled clothes. "He's a hopeless case."

"Shut up or I'll smack that smirk off your face!"

"Ah, the burden of being a big brother, ain't that right, PJ?"

He massages his temples wearily. "You betcha."

"Peej!"

"Oops, sorry, man."

"What are you kids doing?" Goofy's voice drifts from downstairs. "Dinner will get cold."

"We're coming, Mr. G," PJ yells and drags his sister out of the room.

Max and I stare at each other for a second before he stuffs the gold sun in his pocket and walks out of the room.

We make our way downstairs and into the kitchen where everybody is helping setting the table: Peg slapping PJ's hand when he reaches for a chicken wing, Pistol steadying a clumsy Goofy as he makes his way toward the table with a hot pot. Such a strange atmosphere, loud and messy, and yet enthralling.

A bright smile blossoms in my face. "Should I get a booster seat for Max?"

Max is about to flip me the finger, but catches his father looking at him and decides to stick out his tongue instead.

* * *

It's a school night, so Peg and her kids had to leave right after dinner. I was gonna hit the bed once they took off – so exhausted I could sleep for months – but Max the menace had tricked his dad into making me wash the dishes. Apparently, since last night was Goofy's turn, going by age, tonight is supposed to be mine. All that scrubbing and washing had slapped the sleep out of my eyes.

Now I'm lying in bed, my bloodshed eyes glaring up at the ceiling. I know Max isn't asleep because he's doing the whole tossing and turning thing. Time for revenge.

"Hey, Max, you never showed me how to slide down the railing on your hands."

The mattress above me stops squeaking. I can easily imagine how flustered he is right now. "You mean a street plant?"

"No, I meant it the way I said it."

"Right. Um, I didn't?"

"No."

"I thought I did."

A sly smile plays on my lips. "Why? You scared?"

"Me? No. Told you it's nothing."

A pause.

"Then?"

"What?"

"When will you show me?"

"I wanna say tomorrow morning, but I've got school."

"Uh-huh."

"I will do it!"

"Okay."

I turn to my side on bed, stifling my evil snicker. Now he's gonna spend the whole night obsessing over this and he won't get much sleep for school tomorrow. The sound of him tossing and turning returns as I doze off into a satisfied slumber.

A low whispering voice stirs me out of my sleep. I'm greeted by a blurred vision of our bedroom, clearing off on Goofy's face in the photo on Max's desk. I glance back over my shoulder, watching Goofy picking up a drowsy Max and lowering him to the floor.

With a yawn escaping my mouth, I feel extremely glad I don't have to wake up, and hug my pillow tightly. A sudden load drops on me, and soft snoring blares into my ears. I elbow Max out of my bed, smiling at the loud thud.

"Ouch! You jerk!"

"Should thank me for waking you up."

"Should smother you with your own pillow."

"Just go to school, buster."

* * *

Mouth hanging open, eyes wide and unblinking, I stare at Goofy working his magic on the torn button on Max's shirt. With an incredible speed, he manages to fix the shirt in no time. "As easy as stealing candy from a baby, though I wouldn't discourage that."

"Uh, you mean encourage."

"No, discourage. It's not immoral, Bradley."

I bite on my lower lip, finally seeing where Max is coming from, then focus my gaze on the fine job Goofy has done with the shirt. "Very interesting, sir," I say with a newfound respect for the man, holding the needle as if it's Aladdin's magic lamp. "So you're saying all I need to fix my clothes is putting that thin thread into this tiny opening?"

"That's what they call sewing."

"I'm learning so much from you, Mr. Goof."

"Ah-yuck, what did your dad teach you at your house?"

My lips lose the smile and set into a tight thin line. "Nothing much."

As he starts clearing the kitchen table, I slip out of the kitchen and into the backyard. I cross the grass toward the tree house and climb up the ladder, leaning my back against the closed door. I lose myself in thoughts as I look at Goofy clowning around through the kitchen window.

Resting my head back, I let the gentle breeze pinch my cheeks, breathing in the fresh spring air. My eyelids grow heavy, drooping down halfway when I hear the sound of kids bickering at each other nearby. I blink my eyes open and spot Max and PJ at a distance getting the living daylights beaten out of them by larger boys.

Poor suckers. Should I just sit here and enjoy the show? Hmmm, it's not fun when it's someone else giving Goof Boy a hard time. Better get my big brother cape.

I jump down from the tree house to the ground, in a heroic show-off manner, but the second my feet hit the ground it hurts like damn hell! I've jarred my freaking bones and my whole body is frozen into numbness. Serves me right for going all Batman to help the little goof.

I try to shake my stinging feet into working, but I give up instantly when Max's scream blares into my ears. I start hopping like a loser out of the yard and into the street. Once they're at sight, I put on my resolve face and do my best to march toward them, all threatening and dangerous.

A redheaded bully is giving PJ the wedgie of his life while his Billy Idol wannabe friend is pinning Max to the ground.

"Get the heck off of me!" Max struggles to free himself, but his small form is no match for the bulky kid on top of him.

"Give us your allowance or we'll beat you to a pulp just like we did yesterday at the comic book store."

I stop on my tracks, my mind flashing back to Max's horrible state yesterday. I thought he had an accident with PJ's skateboard. I didn't know he was bullied at the shop – which makes you wonder, who allows kids to beat other kids in their own stores?

I cross my arms and knit my eyebrows together. "Get away from them."

The kid who's just about to punch Max's face scowls at me. "Who are you?"

I nod at Max. "I'm his brother."

"Goofball has a brother?"

My glare intensified. "I'll start counting from three, and if you phonies don't skedaddle out of here, I'll jam your heads together."

Both bullies eye me with suspicion and send me into a furious rampage. I move toward them and grab them by the collars, smacking their heads together and smirking at the flying birds in their pupils.

I toss them to the ground like a pair of torn, old socks. "Listen, punk-wannabes, next time you come close to these douchebags, I'll pop your eyes out of your head and make you eat them. Got it?"

They give a terrified whimper and flee out of my sight. I plant my hands on my hips and grin widely, that look of fear in their faces brings me back to simpler times. I miss being Mr. Big Shot, though usually I have my own lackies doing the scaring for me. The moan behind me reminds me of the damsels I just saved. They got a good beating, their faces beautiful shades of rainbow colors.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just…" Max drags his friend toward me. "PJ, a boost."

PJ does as he's told like usual and Max jumps up to my height level and slaps me on the cheek.

"Shit!" I pat the poor spot, still sore from yesterday's bitch slap, and loom over Max.

"You called us douchebags!"

"I saved your sorry butt, you scumbag!"

"Dirt bag!"

PJ jumps between us, playing peace maker. "That's enough bags for today, folks. Chill out."

We shove PJ away and get in each other's faces.

"Chicken can lay eggs on your eyebrows," Max sneers.

"My neck hurts from talking to you, Grumpy!"

"Would you stop it with the short jokes? See my dad, that's how tall I'm gonna get when I'm your age!"

Knowing that things can get ugly, PJ does the wise thing and flings Max over his shoulder, carrying him away toward the house. He spins around and thanks me, ever the good kid he is.

* * *

PJ's house is as nice on the inside as the outside: classy furniture, good quality wallpapers, and their pet dog is cuter than Waffles. I spot an over-weight man sitting on a couch and spitting potato chips at the TV screen. He screams a bunch of foul words at the football players and shoves a load of chips into his mouth.

_This _is Mr. Pete. The business man. I feel a bit let down, this guy looks like a real scum.

Peg walks out of the kitchen in tight white pants and a pink sweater, throwing her arms up in delight. "Oooh, I'm so glad you came." She turns her sweet face toward her husband. "Sweetie Petey, look who's here."

"Who else is here? It's always them Goofs ruining my… c'mon, you bums! Don't just stand there! Chase that ball for Pete's sake." He shakes his fists over his head in excitement, unaware how stupid he appears to his guests. Or probably just doesn't care.

Peg giggles then says to us, "Excuse me." She strides toward her husband, turns off the TV, point at us, and then, "PETE! You better play host or so help me God the next time you watch a football match will be in your grave!"

To my shame, I admit that I hid behind Goofy when the tornado started. Man, who would have thought _this_would come out of a sweet woman like Peg?

"But, Cupcake…"

"Don't sweet talk your way out of this. There's a new addition to Goofy's family and you haven't met him yet."

"That's what we need. Another Goof," Pete mutters but obeys his wife, dragging his feet toward us. He looks me up and down with complete lack of interest and shakes my hand in a haste.

"Petey, this is Bradley. He's Penny's son…"

Pete waves off Goofy, interrupting him with a, "Yeah, yeah, when is dinner?"

"Dinner isn't ready yet," Peg says. "In the meantime, you should entertain the guests."

"I'll entertain them with some football. Goofy is a big fan of football, aren't ya, Goof?"

"Well…"

Pete puts Goofy in a head lock and squashes the oxygen out of him. "Of course, he is. Why he's a huge fan of the Giants," he says with a nervous laugh.

Goofy breaks out of the hook. "Not really. Back when I was little, I was so afraid to play with the other kids, 'cause whenever I hear the "eenie, feeny, finey, foe", my legs tangle on each other." He winks at me and Max. "But one day I heard them say it wrong, and everything was solved. Ah-yuck."

I scratch my temple. "Uh, you mean, Fee-fi-fo-fum?"

Goofy's legs tangle around each other, just as he said, and he releases his well-known yell, dropping on the floor and slamming into everything on his way. Pete's loud laugh of ridicule comes to an unfortunate end when Goofy hits his TV and it comes crashing onto the floor.

We watch Pete crumble and lose himself into wails without a trace of sympathy. Then, suddenly, the man's eyes flash red and focus on Goofy. He leaps at the man and grabs him by the collar, his mouth running with insults.

_What the hell? _That fat jerk needs to be put in his place. I stare at him in utter shock, watching him shove Goofy around and eat him up with his verbal attack. My mind tells me that it's none of my business, but then I catch the look of naked hatred on Max's face. The kid looks at his father being humiliated in helpless frustration, his hands tight fists by his sides.

It's that look of pure abhorrence that makes me decide, stepping between the two grown men and holding up a hand to Pete's face.

"Enough," I say with a hard voice.

He looks at me like I've opened the doors to hell, and I think I did seeing how his eyes turn bloodshed. "Who do you think you are?!" he barks fire at me, throwing me back against Goofy.

"Is this how you treat your guests? No wonder you're a grumpy old jerk."

Goofy gasps behind me, holding my shoulders. "Bradley."

I shake his hands off and step into Pete's personal space. "We're your guests. You should treat us with respect, especially this man who always speaks highly of you." I turn my gaze to a shocked Peg. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Pete, but until Mr. Goof gets an apology, we're heading back home."

She nods in understanding. "Pete, apologize."

"But, Peanut-Butter, did you see how…"

"NOW!"

Pete grumbles incoherent words under his breath and mumbles a lame apology to Goofy.

I wouldn't have accepted that sad excuse of an apology, but one look at Max's satisfied grin makes me settle for it. _Whoa, wait, wait a freaking second… did I just… feel pleased that Max is happy?_My terrified wide eyes lock with Max's grateful ones, and suddenly I lose my ability to breathe.

"Uh, Mrs. Pete, where's the bathroom?"

"I'll show you," Max exclaims eagerly, taking my hand and leading me to the bathroom.

When we're out of sight, he stops walking and turns around with a bright smile on his face. "That was really cool what you did there."

I arch an eyebrow, even though I already figured out what he's talking about.

"It pisses me off, too, when he mocks my dad," he explains, running a hand through his hair and giving a helpless shrug. "But I never had the courage to stand up to him."

He looks down and a mortified whisper escapes his mouth, "Pete scares me."

I stare at his downcast face, speechless, and unsure how to react to that confession. Not sure how to react to him confessing his weakness to _me_. His disgraced admission and pathetic posture send awkward tingles down my belly, and those disturbing and recent bubbly feelings come soaring through me with a force. I fight a creepy urge to fall on my knees and hug him, so I just ruffle his hair instead and dash into the bathroom.

I stand in front of the sink, looking at my terrified face in the mirror. Both of my hands clutch the basin in a white-knuckled grip, feeling the awful truth wrapping its cords around my neck. I'm developing protective brotherly feelings for the guy I despise more than Satan himself.

How the hell did this happen? Two days ago all I wanted was to rub the sole of my shoe on his face, had resorted to magic to be ridded of him, and toyed with a child's feelings to satisfy my bruised ego.

Soft knocks on the door. "Bradley, are you okay?"

His little boy voice, filled with worry and uncertainty, pushes away my brutal thoughts with a snap.

"I'm fine, Max. I'll be out in a minute."

His little boy voice, the first clue to explain the rush of these unwanted emotions, but it isn't until tomorrow night when I realize what the problem is. Goofy suggests a movie night, so the three of us snuggle onto the couch and watch a Jim Carry movie. Having spent the day doing chores I've never done before in my life, I fall into a deep sleep before the first half of the movie is over.

I wake up to a gentle shake on my shoulder, feeling some stiffness in my neck from propping up my head against the arm of the couch. Goofy smiles and then nods down at the weight on my legs. Max is using my thighs as a couple of skinny pillows and hugging my legs tightly to his chest, a poor replacement to his fluffy teddy bear. Goofy looks at him like an angel lazily lounging on a bed of clouds. The kid does look so young and innocent: snuggling against me, his hair a mess on my jeans, his lips parted with soft breath brushing on my upper thigh.

It's here when I figure it out instantly – Max is just a kid. He may have the short-temper and stubbornness of the eighteen year old jackass I remember, but overall, he's nothing more than a kid. His priorities are centered on pranks and having fun. He also seems to be really fond of his father.

That deep shame I used to sense in his older self isn't presented here at all, this little boy takes his father's clumsiness with a stride.

I blink out of my musings when Goofy bends to scoop his son up to his arms and carry him upstairs. My legs feel a bit cold without my little blanket, so I drop them to the floor and follow the older man up the stairs with a yawn.

There's so much affection and love in the way he tucks Max in bed and then kisses his forehead. It's so overwhelming to watch, I'm just not used to a man showing that much affection. I take off my shirt and pants and throw them in the basket, then slip into my bed and snuggle up my pillow.

I close my eyes and let sleep take over me, but the sudden, unexpected kiss on my forehead steals sleep away.

I bolt up in shock and fear, making Goofy jump back with a startle.

He touches his chest where his heart is and chuckles in amusement. "Gee, sensitive feller?"

"I'm not a kid," I protest, feeling the place where his goofy lips touched me burning.

He chuckles again and heads for the door. "Well, you're my kid from now on."

"That's not what I mea – what did you say?"

He smiles back at me, "Good night, Bradley," and then walks out, closing the door behind him.

I stay sitting there for almost half an hour and then start scrubbing my forehead with my fingers hoping I can wipe the feeling of that kiss away. And I thought watching him kissing Max was overwhelming!

* * *

The sun of a Saturday afternoon blazes over my face, forcing me to screw my eyes up. Today is unusually hot for spring, makes me envy Goofy who seizes the day to take a swim in Pete's pool. He climbs up the ladder and waves to me, wearing a swimsuit he probably stole from Peg's wardrobe. I wave back and whimper when I hear the splash of cold water.

"Bradley, focus!"

"Right."

I stretch my back, a strap of my denim overalls slips off my naked shoulder. I put it back on, pretending to smile and nod while I try to process what PJ is saying. He keeps explaining how to mow a lawn with the patience of a saint. Turns out he gets most of the house chores dumped on him by his old man, which makes him a young expert on everything. I've assigned him to be my to-go-to guy after Goofy had almost set our house on fire trying to teach me how to use the washing machine – how are these two events related? Don't ask. It just shows you that nothing is impossible when you have Goofy around.

Max comes over to us with his skateboard tucked under his arm. He tries to find a mischievous way to mow the lawn faster so he and his buddy can go out and play.

"No, no, no, last time I let you help me, we declared war on Mom's roses. I can't do that to Mr. G's daisies." PJ is having none of it, pushing Max away. "Go skate on the ramp until I'm done."

Max rolls his eyes, about to do as his friend said, but then stops on his tracks and starts whistling. "Bradley, look, that girl is checking you out."

I look around. "What? Where?" Oh, I see her. Silky blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail with a scrunchy, sky blue eyes twinkling under the bright sun, a simple white tank top and denim shorts – too casual, yet at that moment, she's the sexiest angel to exist.

Max pulls me down and then pushes one of my straps to hang loose down my back.

"What the…"

He winks and lets go of me. "Chicks dig that, trust me."

She seems to be digging it all right. I honestly don't see what the appeal is: denim overalls on a shirtless body and a cap turned backwards, in other words, I look ridiculous!

"Hey, big brother," Max says in the most innocent tone he can muster – which sounds so unconvincing, especially when you know this kid. "Can you teach me how to fifty-fifty Axelgrind?"

I blink down at him – Max as my wingman?

"I'd like to see that, too." The girl leans against the fence and winks at me.

My eyes are captivated by her full cleavage, so I pat PJ on the back, unable to take my eyes off of her breasts. "PJ, be a pal and mow the lawn for me, okay?"

"What? No! I'm not doing someone else's chores. I've got more than I can take. Besides, Max knows how to…"

Max slaps his palm on PJ's mouth. "Oh, c'mon, Peej, do it for your best bud."

PJ starts complaining, but none of us pay attention to him. Max opens the door to the lady and leads both of us to the small, old ramp. I show-off most of the skateboarding tricks I know with Max playing the fanboy role, proving to be a perfect wingman.

And now I got a date for tonight.

Everybody is fussing over this date: Peg insists on ironing my suit – not trusting Goofy to do it. Pistol is showing me hairstyling trends from her mother's magazines. Max is giving me tips on how to woo the lady. And Goofy can't stop taking pictures of me in the suit – as if I'm going to my high school prom.

I check myself in the mirror, perfecting my trademark smile, but unable to focus with the camera's flash blinding my eyes.

Peg walks into my room with Pistol in toe. She giggles and claps her hands together. "Oh, you look fabulous!"

"Thanks, Mrs. P. Where's PJ?"

"Oh, he says he's having a backache form doing too much mowing. He seems pretty upset."

Max and I share a wink. "I'll talk to him, Mrs. P," he says.

Pistol pinches my thigh and squeals, "Caliente!"

I give her a side grin, feeling flattered, when a fatal pinch rips at my side. I scream at the same time Goofy squeals, "Tabitobi!"

"What does that mean, Pop?" Max asks in sincere confusion.

"I thought we were yelling made-up words. What does "carinii" mean anyway?"

I hang my head in defeat, completely giving up on this man.

* * *

So, my date tonight was almost a complete bust. We went to this nice Italian restaurant and everything was going okay, until I caught a glimpse of Goofy and his camera. It was _not_just Goofy, the whole gang were seated in a table nearby, disguised as the Simpsons. Earlier when I was leaving for my date, I thought it was cute how they all stood at the doorway waving goodbye, eyes bright with tears of happiness and pride. It made me feel loved and special, but following me to the restaurant is boarding on crazy. One thing led to another and the whole restaurant burst into flames, strangely enough, it wasn't Goofy's fault, but Peg's.

I gotta admit, the whole thing made me a hero without really working for it. I was so scared I had raced out of the restaurant before everybody, it so happened that I was holding Kate's hand when the alarm started. She thinks I saved her life.

Over my shoulder, I saw my wacky family winking and giving me thumbs up. I almost smiled back, but restrained myself and gave them a well-deserved scowl.

Now, here we are, in our formal wear eating at a very crowded McDonalds.

"So, Bradley, what do you do?" Kate asks, taking a bite out of a chicken nugget.

A woman shoves my chair out of her way as she squeezes her large body between our table and the table next to us. She knocks my head down with her elbow and my face smacks on the ketchup.

"Nothing yet," I answer with a muffled voice.

Kate's giggle makes me smile. Grabbing a handful of tissues and wiping my face clean. "Still trying to stand up on my feet after my dad died." I wipe the smudge of ketchup from my nose using the hem of my fancy suit jacket.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Her plucked eyebrows furrow in confusion. "I thought the man in the bikini…"

"That's Max's father," I correct promptly. "We're half-brothers."

"So, you're living with your mom?"

"She's dead, too."

"I'm sorry again. Gosh, I'm probably bringing you down."

"Not at all. It's all right." I dip a French fry into the new puddle of ketchup and chew on it. "It's just, it feels like I've been zapped into this town with no idea what to do. I just need time to focus."

She nods in understanding. "You need to have a goal."

The fry dangling out of my mouth falls to my lap, staining my pants. "Yeah, a goal."

She leans closer, resting her chin on her fist. "Can't go forward without having one."

I lower my gaze to my uneaten burger, losing my appetite and desire to stay. "I… yeah…"

* * *

Sunday morning, I'm perched on the top of the tree house, watching Max teaching PJ how to do frontside nosegrinds. The goal Kate was talking about is right in front of me, skillfully skateboarding on that ramp. I just… a whole week in this place, I've been so engrossed in the simplicity of Max's childhood. So attractive and addictive, I even forgot completely about the gold sun. I can't spend my whole life here, though, this was supposed to be a temporary stay. Besides, my whole life here is built on a lie that I'm pretty sure Max and Goofy will figure out eventually.

I need to find a way to achieve my goal without causing harm to Max and return to my timeline to live my life the way it's supposed to be.

But…

A bitter smile forms on my lips as I watch them all: Max and PJ on the ramp, Goofy watering his garden, Pistol having a tea party with her dolls, Pete on his boat reading the newspaper, and Peg inside the kitchen making us sandwiches. Letting go of this life is gonna be the hardest chore.

At night, lying awake in my bed, I don't hear a sound on the mattress above me. It's a school night, so Max is probably in deep sleep at the moment. Still, I can't stop the questions nagging in my head.

"Max, is there something else you're good at other than skateboarding?"

The mattress moves slightly – good, he's still awake. "I can dance," he says in a drowsy voice.

A hopeful smile breaks into my lips. "Really?"

"Yep. Fast-dancing though. Slow-dancing gives me the creeps."

"Did you ever get into a school contest?"

"No. I almost won the spelling bee though."

"Oh, you're good at academic competitions?"

"Not really. It was dad making a point. Again." He peers down at me, his little ears dangling as his eyes blink in confusion. "Why are you asking me all that?"

I lever myself up on one elbow and rest my head on one hand. "Just think that a person should expand his horizons."

A frown clouds his face. "Hey, are you saying that because you think I can't do what you said?"

"What?"

"The sliding down the railing on my hands thing."

"It's okay if you can't do everything now. You're still a kid after all."

"I can do it," he insists. "I'll show you tomorrow after school."

I jump up in bed, fixing my resolved eyes at him. "Don't. Max, you have to promise me you'll never do anything dangerous like that, okay?"

"But I can do it."

"No, I mean it. Don't do it." I hold his childish stubborn gaze with mine, watching him relent and nod. I nod back in satisfaction, not going to sleep until I'm perfectly sure he won't be doing something stupid.

* * *

I hate hospitals. I hate the wandering white coats and blue scrubs, the sight of charts and the injured, the sound of beeping machines and crying children, and the smell of antiseptics. But what I mostly hate is the reminder of human mortality lurking in every corner. The little boy standing close to his father with a touch of hopelessness in his face takes me back to an old, depressing memory.

I turn my attention to the miserable faces around me, unhappy over the recent tragedy. PJ and Pistol had skipped school, cuddled by the side of a mother who's too depressed she can't offer comfort to her children. Even Pete has a grim face on, standing next to his family with his eyes focused on the broken man next to me. I glance at the wreck of a father who hasn't lifted his face off his joined fists since we arrived to the hospital.

Max had disobeyed me and gone through with it. He'd woken up early this morning and dragged PJ with him to the highest flight of stairs in the park. According to PJ, the skateboard had slid down too fast, forcing Max to slip and fall hard on his back. Everything that came after that was pretty scary: a crying Pistol waking me up, the noise of the ambulance siren, Pete driving us to the hospital… buried emotions of loss and sorrow come rushing back enforced with a new sense of guilt.

I put a hand on Goofy's shoulder. "Want some beverage, Mr. G?"

He doesn't answer me. I can't help but think that he's ignoring me on purpose, blaming me for what happened. My chest tightens and my throat locks, suddenly there's no air around me to breathe. I rise to my feet and walk away toward the vending machine, place my palms on it and hang my head.

Fingers brush on my lower back, making me spin around with a flinch. PJ's reassuring smile confuses me more than comforts me. "It's gonna be all right."

I run a hand through my uncombed hair and look away. "It's my fault and you know it."

"It's not your fault."

"I challenged him to do it," I spit out, picturing how the accident happened in my head.

"Max told me that you warned him not to do it. But you know him; nothing can stop him from going after what he wants."

I'm about to protest when I see at the end of the hall the doctor coming out of the examining room, now surrounded by our fretting families. PJ and I race back toward the others only to hear Peg's choked up cry and Pistol's wailing.

PJ turns to his father frantically. "What-wha… what's wrong with Max?"

Pete rubs on his forehead despairingly. "Uh, it appears that he's got a spinal injury. He… the injury seems to have caused paralysis from the hips down."

The sympathy and sorrow in Pete's voice and expression would have stunned me if we're in different circumstances; right now my shock is reserved to Max's severe condition.

"No," PJ says in a dazed shock. "He can't be crippled forever." He grabs the doctor by his white coat and shakes him. "You've got to do something, Doc! There must be a way to fix his spine. Some heck of a surgery."

"Yes," Peg says through her sniffles. "Whatever that surgery costs, we'll pay."

The doctor eyes her sadly, and then places a gentle hand on PJ's shoulder. "I'm sorry, son, the chances of a surgery like that to succeed is forty prescient out of hundred. I'm so sorry."

My heart gives at the sight of Goofy's expressionless face, standing like a frozen statue before me paralyzed by sadness. There you have it, Bradley, Max Goof can never use a skateboard again.

Does it make you happy?

* * *

What used to be a happy home has turned into a cold, dark place occupied by the shells of ourselves. Goofy has transformed into a cynical, depressed man whose only means in life is to make his crippled son his three meals a day and take him on trips to the bathroom. He stopped taking care of himself, his garden, and his pet cat – poor Waffles started to rely on me to feed and cuddle him.

Visits to the neighbors became rare if ever; we don't see much of them anymore, except for PJ and Pistol coming over to cheer up Max from time to time. Goofy's new attitude has isolated us from everyone in the neighborhood, seems that all these years of suppressed anger has combusted the day Max had lost the ability to use his legs.

Peg tried talking to Goofy, even Pete tried slapping some sense into him, telling him along the lines of insults that his new hate for the world isn't doing Max any good.

Seems that it's up to me to keep the poor kid sane in the dull prison his father has locked him in. I find him seated on my old bed – now Max's with me occupying the top mattress – in his hands an upturned comic book. The kid's eyes are hollow, looking past the colored panels and into nothing.

"If you're here to cheer me up, it won't work," he says drily. "All these comic books from PJ didn't and neither did Pistol's 'glad game'."

I lift up the corners of my lips into a tiny smile, sitting next to him on bed and resting on his pillow. "Funny you should mention it, Pollyanna became temporarily disabled, but then she was able to walk again."

Max's sigh seems to have come from the depths of his soul. "It's just a children book, Bradley."

I take a hold of his bare hand, so small without the glove, and rub gentle circles on his palm. "Wanna thumb wrestle?"

He leans his head on my shoulder and sighs again. "Sure."

After a few days of gloom, I've realized that the best medicine right now is to keep things normal. PJ and Pistol try so hard to make him happy that as a result he ends up feeling guilty when he can't return their efforts with a sincere smile. There come days where he can't stand the sight of them and uses eye contact when they're not looking begging me to send them back home.

PJ and Pistol mean well, but all they do is make Max more aware of his condition and that depresses him even more.

"Darn," he grits out.

"What? You're winning."

He looks away. "I need to go to the bathroom."

I never took him to the bathroom – and I sure as hell don't intend to – but that means interacting with Goofy, and that on itself is as an unpleasant as feeding Waffles too much sardine. I watch him press on the button in dismay and wait for his father to come.

When I signed up for this, I knew that what I was getting into would probably have dire consequences on Max. And myself. I'm just… I never wanted it to be this dark. I never wanted Goofy to change into Frankenstein or for Max to be crippled, especially at this young age. Pranks and a little bit of humiliation are all I wanted out of this, not to mention securing my future as the X-Games king. But not like _this_, not by paralyzing an eleven year old kid.

"Max, I know a way to fix this," I say decidedly. "But you have to give me that gold sun."

He looks up at me with a hopeless stare. "You haven't forgotten about that thing yet?"

"It's the only way out of this."

The confusion is apparent on his face, yet he nods guardedly. "My school bag. Front pocket."

Hopping off of the bed, I remember Max's bag being abandoned in the corner behind the door. As I reach with my hand to shut the door, Goofy appears in the doorway with his pale vampire face.

I freeze in my place despite myself, still not used to the monster that replaced the happiest man I ever knew.

"One trip to the bathroom coming up," his attempt to joke falls flat due to his hollow tone and passive features.

I hold up my hands to stop him. "It's fine, Mr. G. I got it."

Goofy scoffs. "Don't tell me _you're_taking him."

I unzip Max's bag and bring out the gold sun. "He'll be able to do it himself. Trust me."

Goofy scoffs again and crosses the room to his son as I pull out the necklace from under my shirt. I look up at the father and son, their ungloved hands clasping in a tight grip.

"Don't worry, everything will be fine," I whisper, holding the sun to the necklace. It fits into the moon with a click.

Bright, bright light shines from the joined pieces and paints everything white for a mere second. It happens in an instant, like a blur, my surroundings change in a flash and Max's room is replaced with another room – my room.

I stare, wide eyed, at the face looking back at me in the mirror – that's me, except I look different. My hair is longer, shaggy, and somewhat curly, my face is much thinner, and… and I look younger. I notice that my shirt has changed, too. I'm wearing an old Ralf Lauren vest over a striped shirt, these clothes… I remember them. I look around me in complete shock. I'm back in the mansion.

Could… could it be?

I race toward my nightstand and look at the fancy, boring calendar I remember so well. 1995! The timeline is three years to the future, and yet I've got a few years knocked out of my age. I'm sixteen.

But, if I'm sixteen, then…

A knock on the door makes me yelp – at least I already outgrew my puberty voice. I gaze at the door in suspicion, my heart raging in my chest in spite of me. I don't think I'm ready to see _him_yet.

"Master Bradley, are you in there?"

_Yoli!_It's just Yoli. I heave a sigh of relief and walk over to the door, opening it for my favorite servant. She looks the same, except for the clothes and the hair, but generally she makes me feel a bit nostalgic. Just a little bit.

I force a carefree smile on my face. "Hey, what do you want?"

"I came for the dirty clothes." She doesn't buy my act, as usual. "Are you all right? You look pale. Well, more than usual."

I shrug. "I'm fine."

She narrows her eyes at me, trying to guess what is going on but already knows she'll never be able to drag the truth out of me. "Why don't you go and ride Andrea?"

My eyes bulge out in complete horror. "What?!"

She raises an eyebrow at me. "Andrea, your horse."

I never had a horse. "My horse?"

She places her palm on my forehead. "Are you sick?"

I shake her hand away. "Right. My horse. At the stable, I assume."

"Where else would she be?"

My balcony overlooks an abandoned stable we didn't use since my mother passed away. Mom used to be so fond of horses, her favorite was an Arabian horse called Gloria. They used to make the most beautiful picture together, carved in my mind forever, whether she was feeding her, washing her or riding her. Always laughing, always happy, always attractive – my best times when I was little were when I was looking at her and Gloria together.

Mom was a gifted equestrienne and had often taken me horseback riding as a child. She'd promised to get me my own steed when I'm old enough to take care of it and ride it, but after her death, I lost my love and interest in everything related to horses. Dad sending Gloria away was the second hardest thing I had to witness in my childhood.

There it is, the old stable, doesn't look so old anymore. It's been repainted and cleaned, I wonder if it looks exactly like I remember it on the inside. I walk around the stable, glancing up at my balcony. It used to be a torture having the stable right at my view, for all his eagerness to get rid of every reminder of Mom, Dad had never gotten around to bring down this place.

The loud neighing of a horse makes me pick up my pace and I see her just exiting the stable. Gloria. Looks exactly just like Gloria, a reddish brown body color and a black mane and tail with a cross-shaped white mark on her forehead. I'd believe she's Gloria, but my mother's mare was a chestnut horse, this one looks like a bay horse.

I'm broken out of my enchantment by a boy in a white T-shirt and denim overalls walking out of the stable with a pail of hay. He places it in front of Andrea and watches her dig into it, lowering the brim of his denim hat.

Moving forward, I step on a tree branch on the ground, the cracking sound startling the stable boy and making him spin around.

_No way._

_Max _is my stable boy?!

What? How? But… he's supposed to be in Spoonerville, what brings him to…? Aunt Broom-Hilda's words vaguely cross my mind, something about the past rewriting itself. Which means that now I have a horse, the stable isn't abandoned, Max works for me, and… and… if we're using the stable, that means that…

Mom is still alive.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four:**

_Mom is still alive._

Heart raging in my chest, helplessly panting while running back toward the mansion, my hopes and longing building up with each step I take. _Mom is still alive,_the only thought rushing through my head. I thump and bump into most of the servants on my way, using my long limbs to hop up two steps of the stairs.

"Master Bradley," hearing the disbelief and worry in Yoli's voice, I keep racing up the stairs as fast as I can. My father doesn't like anyone running inside the house, but at this moment, _frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn._

I never hated the long hallways in my house like I do now, seems like they're stretching on forever, creating a never ending maze of dull, naked walls.

I slow down spotting the door I know so well, now approaching it with tentative steps. I rest my hand on the doorknob, thinking of nothing but her beautiful red hair and emerald green eyes. Now that I'm here, I feel paralyzed by fear and hesitation. What will I say to her? Is she still the same angel I remember? Does she look the same? Ten years ought to have aged and changed her. All these thoughts and questions invading my head are pushing me to flee and hide in my room.

Mixed emotions fight a messy battle inside, my grip shaking on the doorknob. I close my eyes briefly, reconsider what I'm about to do, what it may change, if I should sacrifice all my beautiful memories of her for a made belief reality. Missing her so much and longing for her touch and hold urge me to make a rash decision, and I hear the definite click as I turn the doorknob.

Dim light illuminating from the lonely lamp on the nightstand greets me in the dark bedroom. The familiar chic black wallpaper, the empty battle of beer on top of a closed book resting on a table next to a singular couch, all crush my hopes into a pulp.

"Brad!"

My skin crawls with anxiety.

He steps out of the bathroom in a black robe, fixing a very familiar glare my way. "Why didn't you knock?"

I look at him with bare disappointment and loss, biting down a quivering lip. "Black wallpaper?"

His scowl melts into a matching look of pain. "Dreamed about her again?"

The hard knot in my throat is burning now, making it almost impossible for me to talk. I gaze around the room, searching for any reminder of her, but he'd changed everything just like he'd done in the old, not altered reality. That witch could have given me that happiness, but apparently she just inserted Max into my past, changing little to nothing about my childhood.

Dad is still the same bitter alcoholic, and my mother… she's…

_Mom is dead!_

Dad takes a step closer to me, but I flinch back. My reaction disturbs him into stillness, paints a sad, frustrated look in his eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asks in an unfamiliar tenderness, as if speaking to some spooked animal.

And I am spooked, so spooked I wanna cry like a newborn baby or explode out of existence. That small thread of hope ripped out of my heart and left me with nothing. I have nothing to look forward to in this timeline. The sight of my father's bedroom is too suffocating that I need to breathe. I need to get out.

I storm out of his room and run down the halls, my steps hard thumps on the carpeted floor. Slamming the door open, I pace all over my room aimlessly, feeling it spinning around me. I need to get out. I need to get out. I need to get out.

Can't do it all over again. Can't relive the nightmare of my childhood and teen years. Can't sleep under the same roof with _him_again.

Taking a hold of my expensive vest, pulling on it so hard I hear it rip. Loud screams of frustration tear through my dry throat and break into the silence of my room. My legs give out and I drop to my knees, ripping most of my vest already. My hand closes into a tight fist and bangs on the floor, harsh, harsh bangs, leaving small drops of blood on the wood.

Gold slips out of my shirt and dances in uneven circles, dangling from my neck. The gold-plated moon glistens through the fog of my tears, no sun attached to it anymore. _Where he lives you'll find the golden sun._

_Max!_

Rising to my feet, so suddenly I feel a head rush and collapse to the floor again. Taking a couple of ragged breaths, I grab the chair and pull myself up to my feet, steadying myself with a hand on the desk. My reflection on the mirror the most hideous I've ever seen myself – mustn't let Max see me in this condition. Teenage servants foster a strong sense of rebellion, so in order to have their undying respect, a top-notch appearance is big on the must list.

I need to take a grip.

Taking a quick shower, slipping into a sharp outfit, I gaze through the widow at the beautiful sunset relaxing over the hillside. The day has ended so soon, better hurry up before Max leaves the stable.

I make my way through the sandy ground, puffs of dust rising and falling with each step I take. The scoffing and neighing of a horse drift to my ears, so I quicken my steps – the sooner I get to Max the sooner I'm out of this hell.

Instead of a brown mare, I see a strongly built, compact yet elegant Andalusian horse drinking from a pail. Its golden, long mane dips into the water while the thick tail flags high in the air. Over the white horse's back, a carrot bounces up and disappears down, a sound of a man whistling a cheery tone mingling with the fluttering of the water.

I feel a warm chuckle escaping my mouth in spite of myself. "Mr. Goof?"

The carrot smacks the man's head and bounces off to the ground, rolling until it stops at my feet.

"Ah-yuck, hi-ya, Bradley."

Denim overalls just like his son over a white T-shirt, both Goofs work for us, taking care of our horses. I turn my attention to the majestic white horse, if Andrea is my horse, then this is Dad's for sure.

Goofy walks over and picks up the carrot, wiping the dirt on his overalls.

"You're not gonna eat that, are you?"

He chuckles. "Don't be silly. This is Alexander's."

"Dad's horse?" I ask, mostly for confirmation.

"Yep. Best stallion for the boss." I watch him make his way toward Alexander, brush a gloved hand gently on the golden mane to draw the horse's attention to the carrot.

I peek into the stable from my place, too dark I can't see a thing. "Where's Max?"

"Already tucked Andrea in," Goofy answers. "He's back at the dorm."

My hand locks on the gold moon, feeling its sharp edges digging at my palm. No point of hiding it under my shirt like I used to do, especially when I'm close to leaving this reality for good.

"Okay, thanks, Mr. G!"

Goofy recoils and looks back at me with wide eyes. "What did you just call me?"

"Uh, um, what?" I fluster, having gotten used to calling him by the name PJ and Pistol use during my stay in Spoonerville.

His eyes turn misty and he shakes his head with a small bitter smile. "It's all right. Just nostalgia."

I walk away before curiosity takes over me. There's no point of learning why Goofy and Max ended up here.

The servants' dorm, I've snuck in there quite a lot during my childhood, mostly to piss off my old man. He doesn't like me mixing up with the help, other than Yoli, I'm not supposed to socialize with them.

I asked around for Max's room – he shares the room next to Yoli's with his dad. Supposedly the biggest room in the dorm with a closet room, a kitchenette, and a bathroom. Tom, the gardener, told me they thought it was best to give the man and his son the best room, considering the circumstances. Again, I stifled my curiosity and simply thanked the man, no need to learn about the details of Goofy and Max's situation.

Urgent knocks on their door, I fight the urge to slam the door open – just smiled at Mary passing the hallway to her room, no need to raise anyone's suspicion by acting rude to the youngest servant in the dorm.

"I'm coming," yells the detested voice I remember, having grown out of the little boy voice.

Seems like ages ago when I was part of the Goof family; those old feelings of belonging and adoration have promptly gotten out of my system after the last encounter with my father. Nothing matters now but to get back to my rightful time and swear off magic completely.

"Bradley?" Fourteen year old Max opens the door, looking a bit older than the kid I left behind in Spoonerville. Hair tousled and greasy after a hard day of work with a few locks plastered on his forehead, he looks up at me with the same big eyes he'd inherited from his father. Though he's taller than he used to be, he's still a lot of inches shorter than I am – when will that growth spurt kick in? He's wearing a white tank top and wrinkled overalls with the straps hanging down over his hips, having slipped into them in the rush to open the door.

Making sure no one is in the hallway; I shove him aside and walk into their room. Large and simple with one bed placed in the corner.

"You sleep in the closet?"

"What?" He's already dumbfounded over my past dismissive shove, not expecting such a thing from me. Makes me wonder about the Bradley of this reality, the one who never knew Max Goof beforehand, is it possible that in this timeline the two of us became some sort of friends?

"I _said_, you sleep in the closet?" I say a bit crudely. "Are you deaf of something?"

Dark eyebrows creasing in a peeved frown, Max folds his arms over his chest. "What is it that you want?" he asks in a deep voice, too mature for his age. He's supposed to be fresh out of puberty.

"Listen, kiddo, in this estate, _I_call the shots. So, you better do what I say, stable boy," I demand, putting extra inflection on the name.

Lips a tight line, the boy struggles to keep his short-temper under control. His expressive face shows a mixture of negative emotions, but he knows full well that once he opens his mouth the wrong words will slip out and put him in trouble. He reluctantly leads me to the door on the right and into a very small, windowless room.

Books scattered over the room, some hidden under crumpled clothes, underwear lying on an unmade bed. Tisking at the dump before me, I smile when a rosy color rises to Max's cheeks. "Still the messy pig, aren't you?"

He blinks up at me. "Still?"

I don't fluster over my Freudian slip, remain calm and nonchalant. "Looking at this room makes me exhausted. Just tell me where you're hiding it."

"Hiding what?"

"The gold sun."

"The gold what?"

"See this?" I hold up the necklace to his face, an expected deja vu arising. "A sun should be attached to this moon."

Max regards me with a hard stare. "And you think I took it?"

"Who else would do that?"

Finding it really hard to keep his anger buried inside anymore, Max grits his teeth, his tight fists shaking by his sides. "Oh, I don't know, the maid cleaning your room for instant?" he retorts sarcastically.

I'm not impressed.

"Maybe you misplaced it?" He nods his chin at my necklace. "I never saw anything like this before."

"Maybe not this, but you obviously saw my gold sun."

His face flames in the disgrace of being accused of thievery. "I swear I didn't take it."

Stepping closer until we're face to face, I smirk down at his livid gaze. "C'mon, Max, let's be honest. It's in your room."

"No, it's not. Go ahead and search the place."

"I'm not gonna search this dump." Walking around the small room, I try to detect a shiny object among the mess of clothes and books. "I'll tell you what," I begin, turning around to face him. "I'll give you three days, and if you don't come clean with it, I'll come over with a group of maids to search through this room."

Before he can say a thing, I go on, "I'll also know if you're gonna sneak it out. The hallways are filled with security cameras."

He looks like he wants to spit on my face. "There's no need for any of that. I'm telling you now, it's not here."

"Once you find it," I continue as if I haven't heard him, "I'll have your old man kicked out of this estate and make sure he never finds a job. And believe me, my dad can do that."

He stares at me with eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

"The only way to save your father is to beg me on your knees, kissing my feet and agreeing to become my personal slave – oops, I meant servant."

Okay, I know I've gone way too far, got carried away by power and status, but the look on his face is pure win. He can't even utter a word to everything I said. I make my way out of the room, bumping his shoulder with mine.

"By the way, I'll definitely be in the mood for a good horseback riding tomorrow, so get Andrea ready for me."

My trip back home will be delayed, but at least I'll get to have fun tormenting my stable boy.

* * *

Silent dinners, how I _haven't _missed you. Thankfully, it's just Dad and I tonight, without one of his bimbos. Sitting at the end of the very long table with Dad taking the other end, my eyes focus on his face, watching him chew on small pieces of his roast venison. He hasn't started wearing his glasses yet and his hair a dark brown that hasn't been touched by gray. Becoming aware of my intense stare, our eyes meet for a brief second, but I jerk my gaze away to the old dining room.

I let it wander over the elegant wallpaper, passing the sparkling golden chandeliers to the long antique table and ending at my plate. The chandelier's light glistens on the juniper sauce covering my venison which rested on a bed of sweet potato mash. Looking at my fancy meal, all I can think about is Goofy's ketchup spaghetti: that wooden round table in the middle of the small kitchen, using ping pong pads to eat the flying meatballs, laughing at Goofy getting tangled by the spaghetti.

A sudden chuckle slips out of my mouth, and I bite my lips into silence. My father looks at me questioningly, but I shake my head with a tight smile.

"You haven't touched your food?"

"I'm not hungry."

"You're not leaving this table until you finish your dinner, young man."

I feel a muscle in my jaw working and reluctantly reach for my sparkly silver knife, feeing the sharp blade against my finger.

"I was looking forward to go riding with you tomorrow afternoon," Dad says, taking a sip of his wine. "Unfortunately, something came up at work. Guess we'll have to reschedule it for later."

If anyone heard him, they'll think he's talking about rescheduling some work-related business or a meeting, _not_a quality time with his own son. I rip a tiny piece of the venison with my knife, enjoying the feeling of the blade cutting through the meat.

"Something came up, you mean Elaine?" I ask pointedly.

Cool hazel eyes stare back at me. "Yes."

I gave a shaky nod and force the meat into my mouth, and despite the delicious flavor, I feel my chest heaving.

I don't feel better until I'm back in my room, seizing a certain canvas from its hiding place. My old studio all set up with my old paintings – haven't seen them for years, especially this one. My favorite portrait of my mother, still uncompleted, looking bare without the red, and blue, and white…

I touch my mother's unpainted hair, wondering if I can bring it to the perfection I once did, but feeling paralyzed by uncertainty and lack of confidence.

A sense of relief washes over me when I realize I'm out of red.

* * *

Forced out of bed at seven o'clock should be a crime against childhood – another reason why I cherish my college life. Eyes half-closed, backpack barely hanging on my shoulders, I drag my feet toward the black porch waiting for me outside the house. Good thing I don't have to walk to the gates, my feet can hardly hold me up, let's just hope the nap I'm gonna take in the car will be satisfying.

I rest my head against the window glass right when we're passing the stable. Goofy is already up in his overalls pushing a wheelbarrow and dumping its contents in the manure pile.

"Stop for a sec," I order Mike, the driver, and roll down the window. "Hey, Mr. Goof!"

He stretches his back and gives me a bright smile. "Hi-ya, Bradley, off to school?"

Nodding, I search around for the younger Goof. "Where's Max?"

"Oh, the nearest public school is a one hour walk. He leaves for school at five thirty every day."

Servants aren't allowed to use one of our many cars? Bet Dad thinks he's generous enough letting the stableman's kid go to school. Goofy's easygoing tone doesn't surprise me, seeing how he tended to look past Pete's rude and cunning behavior.

The engine starts running and we're out of the gates, my mind running over different thoughts.

"Mike?"

"Yes, sir?"

"What do you know about Goof and his son?"

"Not much, sir. I haven't interacted with them yet."

"So, they haven't been here for long?"

I can see his expression through the rearview mirror dissolving into a frown, probably wondering why I'm asking such a question. "They've been here for a month, sir," he says it in a tone that suggests I should already know about this. I must have spent most of my time at the stable hanging out with the Goofs.

"How did my father hire them?"

"Hire them?"

"Yes, Mike, how else are they working here?" I shift in my seat, feeling a bit frustrated in my school uniform. I can't believe I'm gonna see everybody from high school again, my stomach is already lurching.

"Sir, I thought…" a forced cough interrupts what he's going to say, apparently catching himself in time before he says something he'll regret, "I'm sorry. I misspoke."

"No, you didn't. What were you going to say?"

Beads of sweat glint on his forehead. "It's not my place, sir."

"Mike, I order you to speak."

"I… I've heard that Goof is… uh, burdened with debt. Nothing he owned could pay off what he owed your father."

That doesn't make the slightest bit of sense. "Explanation please?"

Mike wipes the sweat from his forehead. "Maybe you better ask your father, Master Bradley."

Could it be that big of a deal? Or does Mike think my dad is hiding these facts from me? From the looks of it, before the transition, the former me seems to have developed a friendship with the Goofs – not surprising at all seeing how much of a loner I used to be. Having another kid around could have made my childhood a bit more bearable.

From Mike's reaction, I'm supposed to already know everything about Max and his dad, so it came as a shock that I know jack. I can't blame him for keeping his mouth shut. Nobody wants to get on Dad's bad side.

* * *

Never in a million years did I want to go back to high school, especially mine, but the fun I had today made this whole time travel hooplah worthwhile. Seeing my old teachers and classmates was a little weird at first, until I got a glimpse of the bullies who made my high school experience a living hell. So far getting back at them was the highlight of my day, though I'm sure that's gonna change now that I've spotted Max at the stable.

_Yes!_There he is brushing Andrea's back and girth area, looking like the poster child for the nineties fashion disaster. His cap turned backwards, a flannel shirt tied over his hips, but the detail that put a smile on my face is the overalls with the one strap undone. Makes me wonder what Kate is doing at the moment – she won't look at me twice now that I'm a skinny, nerdy teenager.

I brush my hands on my equestrian clothing in excitement, recalling how surprised I was when I found the professionally tailored jacket and beige breaches hanging in my closet. Mom has always admired the elegance of English riding clothing, buying all of her equestrian apparel from a store in Cambridge. The smile on my lips fades when hearing Max's laugh of delight.

While I still don't have much affection for my mare, other than the fact that she looks so much like Gloria, a spark of jealousy swoops over me seeing her brushing her muzzle against the boy's cheek. He laughs again, letting her massage the base of his neck with her upper lip. Both of them appear so in sync with each other, like she actually belongs to him.

"Max," I grunt his name, approaching the two of them with uneven steps on the muddy ground.

He spins around, startled, then a grim look clouds his face at the sight of me. "Bradley." A small smile disturbs the hard expression when Andrea licks his face.

My eyebrows knit together. "What did you just call me?"

"You told me that…" he trails off, noticing my frown intensifying, and then he amends, "Master Bradley."

Nodding in approval, I smile at my horse, reaching with a hand to pet her muzzle. She jerks her head away from my touch, causing Max to stifle a scornful laugh. I try to keep my cool and casually tap my helmet. "You haven't saddled her yet? I told you I was going for a ride."

"Ah-yuck! There you are kids."

I notice Max's instant grimace at the sound of his father's gleeful exclaim. He hurries into the stable just as Goofy arrives with Alexander.

"Hi, Mr. Goof," I say politely. Somehow it's easier to revert to my old hostility toward Max, despite what happened between us in Spoonerville, but with Goofy I find it hard not to repay his kindness with respect.

Noticing how Alexander nuzzles Goofy's cheek with affection, I try to touch Andrea again, but this time her reaction is a bit violent.

Goofy jumps to calm her down. "Easy, easy there, girl." He smiles at me, stroking my horse on the neck gently. "Gotta watch it with them horses. They say never approach a fool from the back, a bull from the side, and a goof from the back. No, wait a minute, this ain't right."

"Great, Mr. Goof, but what does that have to do with horses?"

"Everything has to do with horses, Bradley. Didn't you hear what I just said?"

I let out a humorous chuckle.

"Say, is your father going to practice riding as well?"

"No. He said he'll be busy today."

"Oh." His face falls at my answer, only to brighten at the sight of his precious son walking out of the stable. "Hey, Maxie, what was that quote about horses and goofs?"

Max ignores him, placing the saddle pad on the Andrea's back, positioning it forward over the withers and sliding it back into place.

Goofy's face droops again, pulling on Alexander's rein and leading him away. I look between father and son in confusion; this isn't the usual Max seeking independence from his father. Something bigger must have happened to make them drift apart, or more accurately make Max treat Goofy like crap. Well, more than usual.

Minutes later, I'm on my horse walking slowly and steadily around the mansion. This is the first time I ride a horse alone, forgetting what it felt like sitting on a saddle since I was only five or six back then sharing it with Mom. Speaking of Mom, I've never felt closer to her than right now, riding my own Gloria in my English equestrian clothing. I straighten my back, imitating her perfect posture with a bit of difficulty. The way Max holds the side of the reins to lead Andrea forces me to hunch my back a little. I don't think I've ever seen Mom needing an instructor or a stable boy to lead Gloria around, being experienced in this field since I was born.

Taking several rounds around the big mansion, I'm amazed that Max's legs can still carry him, especially after the one-hour run to and from school.

The whole ride becomes very dull due to our silence, time to shake up things a little.

"Did you find the gold sun?"

"Not yet," he grumbles the answer.

"Did you even look for it?"

"I… I didn't." His saggy shoulders sag even more. "I had homework and…"

"Excuses won't cut it." I nudge his shoulder with my black boot. "You openly ignored my request."

"Bra… Master Bradley…"

"Shut up!" I look at the back of Andrea's head helplessly before glaring down at him. "Make her stop walking."

He lifts up an eyebrow at me. "You know how to do it."

"Don't talk back to me. Just do it."

"Do the pre-signal."

"What the hell is a pre-signal?"

Max heaves a suffering sigh. "Take a breath, feet forward, and suck in your stomach."

I do as he tells me and watch him nod like some professional instructor. "Now say the signal."

"Max," I snap in frustration.

He rolls his eyes. "Whoa."

"Whoa," I yell and give a light bump on the rein like I see in western movies. She stops. She actually stops! I bite in a happy laugh when I notice Max rolling his eyes again.

One month doesn't make him an export! _I_most likely taught him all he needed to know about horsemanship. I can see how confusing it is to have the teacher forget all about his teachings. That still doesn't give him the right to disrespect me.

I look down at him from my high place, tasting the power in my position. "Obviously you're having some difficulty remembering your place." I ignore his look of disbelief, undoing my necklace and holding it up over a puddle of mud. "You need a reminder."

I let go of the necklace and watch it drop into the mud, making a splash that stains Max's boots even further.

"My necklace, Max."

After a swift look of confusion directed at me, he bends down and reaches with a gloved hand for the filthy necklace.

"No," I say dryly. "Use your teeth."

Eyes widen with incredulous shock. "What?"

"Pick it up with your teeth."

He stares at me closely, mouth slightly hanging open, and then gives a small shake of sorrow. "Why…? I don't understand."

"It's to be expected when you have Goofy for a father."

Sad eyes flash red with anger. "Hey!"

I can sense a sarcastic remark dying in his throat as he realizes who he is talking to. His fists shake by his sides, merely opening before closing again. The hurt and confusion in his face interest me, better search in my room for any evidence of a friendship between us. The way he looks at me is that of a boy betrayed by his closest friend.

I think for a moment that he's going to protest some more, but then he drops to his knees, rubbing the denim against the dirt. Eying the necklace in the midst of mud, the boy looks like he's going to be sick. He hesitates a bit before planting his hands on each side of the puddle, lowering his head down until his ears sink into the mud. Strange feelings rush inside me at the sight of the new X-Games champion rubbing his face in the dirt to fetch an item of mine.

Eighteen year old Max would kill me over this, forcing his four years younger self on hands and knees to obey my malicious orders. I hold my breath when Max looks up at me, face tainted with filth that drips from his chin and ears, my necklace dangling between his stained teeth.

I try to save this image of him in my mind for a sketch later, damn it, my fingers itch to draw his pathetic pose.

"Clean it with your shirt," I object when he hands me the dirty necklace.

The look he throws at me makes me snicker. He wants to tell me to go screw myself so bad. With jerky movements, he starts cleaning the necklace with his white T-shirt, looking like he wants to grumble one curse after another but knowing better than to do that.

This time I accept the necklace from him and let him lead the horse toward the stable. I could have been evil and let him parade me around the servants just to enjoy him ducking his head to hide the dirt on his face, but I think the poor kid has suffered enough.

Back at the stable, he helps me hop off the horse's back before starting to walk toward the dorms.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he snaps.

I let his snippy retort slide because I can see how upset he is. "And you're gonna leave Andrea unattended?"

He looks back at the horse in exhaustion and shakes his head. "No."

"When you're done, check in with me. I'll be sitting over there."

Max gives a dull nod, leading Andrea into the stable.

Sitting on a rock bench, I pat the pockets of my jacket, feeling something inside. The empty color tube from last night, I completely forgot about it. An evil idea sparks in my head, shutting down the rational conscious that tries to tell me I've already gone too far tormenting the kid.

As Max walks out of the stable, I throw the color tube at him. He catches it easily and looks between the object and myself.

"I need this color. Go to the store and get me a new tube."

He looks like he's about to thrash me. "Why don't you let Mike do it?"

"I want you," I say pointedly, a smirk playing on my lips.

"But it's way too far."

"You run to school every day, you must be used to this by now." I toss a wad of cash at him derisively, watching it scatter over him and the ground. "This is what the paint costs. Now even if you come back late, I want you to bring over the paint to my room."

"I can't," he says wryly. "I'm not allowed to go into the mansion. Us who serve outside should remain outside." He's obviously quoting my father.

"I'm your master. You do what I say, understood?" I seal the deal with this argument. "Run now."

Beat, he bites the inside of his cheek, pleading some mercy with his big sad eyes. My face remains as hard as a stone. He stoops and gathers up the strewn money before running toward the gates.

After another long successful day at school, who knew I'd enjoy going back to high school so much? With all the knowledge of these people's weaknesses and near futures, I can easily crush them and step on their messy corpses. It was a glorious day, made better by various thoughts and images of Max's dirty face and kicked puppy dog eyes.

My riding boots dig deep into the mud as I make my way toward the stable. Late at night, I heard faint, hesitant knocks on the door. Max looked extremely nervous as he delivered the package, desperately wanting to get out of the mansion. The mud had dried off on his face, his clothes a stench of sweat, and he couldn't stop panting.

At that moment, I wished I had a camera to souvenir this moment. Maybe fasten a spiked collar around his neck and attach its chain to the foot of the bed, keeping him trapped in my room for a quick sketch.

Goofy appears at sight, but there's no sign of his kid. "Mr. Goof," I say a tad too cheerfully. "Max back from school yet?"

He mimics his son's rude behavior yesterday, ignoring me while prying out the dirt lodged in the sole of Alexander's foot with a hoof pick. "He didn't go today," he answers in a matter-of-factly tone that doesn't suit him at all.

"Oh. Why not?"

Still keeping his back to me and resuming his work, he mutters, "He's not feeling all right."

I look at my lonely horse inside the stable, still locked in the stall. "Oh, well, someone needs to take care of Andrea…"

"I'll do it," he cuts me off, somewhat too crossly.

His harsh answer takes me by surprise – did Max tell him about what I did to him yesterday? That'll explain why Goofy is treating me like the biggest scum on earth – which I suppose I am.

"He's that sick?"

I receive nothing but the cold shoulder; clearly he's upset with me. Suddenly, I'm reminded of Frankenstein Goof from the previous timeline. I really hope my actions with Max didn't push Goofy into that hopeless bitter state.

I turn around, utterly disappointed that I won't have my anticipated fun today, only to be stopped by Goofy's rigid voice, "_Master_Bradley."

Taken aback, I turn around, about to jump back at the strict look on his usually silly features.

"I'd really wish you don't order Max to go into the mansion again."

* * *

I barge into the closet that is Max's room without knocking, finding the kid huddled on the bed into a tight ball. He stirs awake with a scared gasp, his frightened expression fading into a look of disgust when he sees me.

I make my way through the mess lying on his floor and smack a hand on his forehead, "No fever." Crossing my arms over my chest, I tap a foot on the floor and fix him a hard stare. "Slacking off, I see?"

His hollow eyes shift their gaze from my face to the empty wall, lips closed on each other and not moving.

"Get up. Get up and go to work."

"I can't," comes the answer in a muffled, small voice.

"Yes, you can." I reach for the blanket covering his body and fling it off, exposing his naked torso. My heart drops at the sight of long, red scars covering his slender back. Those very familiar scars.

"It's my dad, isn't it?"

He tries to pull up the covers to hide the red lines of shame, but the pain in his back intensifies from shifting. So, instead, he looks away and says, "I told you I'm not allowed into the mansion."

"That doesn't… he shouldn't…"

I've been whipped like this at a younger age, but something about whipping someone else's kid for whatever reason makes me want to vomit. At this moment I realize how much we actually own the Goofs, that Goofy had obviously messed up so bad that he can't say a thing about Dad taking a belt to his only son's flesh.

My eyes burning in rage, looking at the various entangled scars on Max's bare back. "I'm gonna talk to him."

Finally, he turns around to look at me. "No, don't do it!"

"But what he did…"

Thick tears are sliding down Max's cheeks now, his voice so broken and desperate it scares me, "Please. Don't. Just don't."

He looks away again and buries his face into the pillow, falling apart as sobs of anguish wrack his body. Resisting a strong urge to sit next to him and rub soothing circles on his arm – he was, for a short amount of time, my little brother – I end up just standing there, watching him soak his pillow with tears of humiliation.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five:**

My second time riding Andrea is going quite well. Though I still need someone holding the reins and leading the horse, I'm more comfortable and secure on the saddle now. Maybe her starting to like me helped boosting up my confidence. Since Max had been stuck in bed for the past couple of days, I've decided to help Goofy take care of Andrea. Seems that in order to befriend a horse, one must learn how to groom them.

I didn't expect it to be a fun experience, but currying her, brushing her coat, and feeding her was the most exciting thing I've done since forever. Cleaning her hooves was really tricky; Goofy had to stick close by 'cause it was too dangerous on a beginner.

My favorite part was combing her mane, being close to her face but not too close. When singing and talking to her, she'd affectionately press her muzzle gently against my cheek. I always try to restrain myself from giving her a full blown hug, seeing as any radical reaction on my part will drive her away – according to Goofy.

The tension in our relationship due to the whole Max tragedy seemed to have come to an end. Goofy has always been the type not to hold a grudge, why else is he still friends with Fat, Cruel and Ugly? What really surprised me was how much I wanted him to forgive me. Must be those seeds of affection planted in the earlier timeline – in a way I seem to be seeing this simple man as the father I never had.

The cool breeze sweeps against my face, ruffling the hairs sticking out of my helmet. With day turning into night as the sun sinks into the mountains, the weather becomes a little bit chilly despite it being usually pleasant in spring. Glancing down at Max leading Andrea around the estate, I notice a little shiver underneath the sweater he's wearing over his overalls. Gotta admire his determination to keep a strong face on despite all the crap he has to do every day. How does he keep it all together? Does he have time to study? Does he even have the will to do it after a long day's work?

It was a shocking surprise finding Max in the stable today, not a nice one though – I was really looking forward to carry on taking care of Andrea. Max seems to have recovered just fine, but I'm sure the touch of the fabric on his scarred back still itches. He didn't appear too pleased by my observations as my critical eyes followed every move he made grooming my horse, as if those two past days made me more of an export than his one month worth of experience.

Nothing was said about what had happened that night or my indulgent visit to his closet the day that followed. Max had continued working in silence, ignoring my comments on missing a spot and tearing out Andrea's mane with his rough combing. His dad wasn't even around to shake things up, and neither was Alexander.

Walking close to the gates, I decide to break the little ice between us by starting a casual conversion.

"How was school today?"

He looks up at me in surprise – can't blame him, when did I ever show an interest in his life? "Um, not bad. I guess."

"Did you make friends?"

He narrows his eyes at me suspiciously. "I told you about Jack."

"Must have slipped my mind," I say swiftly. "Good guy?"

Max shrugs. "He's cool." Another suspicious stare before a small smile forms on his lips. "Hey, whatever happened to that jerk you told me about?"

My eyes regain their coolness. "I ask the questions, Max."

Like a knife cutting into his stomach, the smile on his lips dissolves into a tight thin line, realizing he'd fallen right into my unintended trap. I don't think he'll let his guard down again. The short-lived friendly atmosphere thickens and we carry on in silence.

Passing the locked gates, I'm mesmerized by the wide field on the other side stretching out toward the horizons. How wonderful would it feel like riding Andrea and racing down that open, wide space! I brush those impossible thoughts away with a bitter sigh, and turn my attention up to the yellow and orange vanishing into the mountains.

Walking into a small forest of trees, the sky disappears between the darkening leaves, looking like glittering rubies. I slip my eyelids shut and breathe in the fresh scent of spring, feeling the gentle breeze tickling my cheeks. The impossible thoughts come back with a force, Mom and I riding our brown horses in that wide field. Going fast, free and powerful, watching her red hair flowing behind her mixing with the redness of the sky…

Suddenly, I drop against Andrea's neck as she stops walking with a wild squeal.

Whirling to lash a few insults at Max, my tongue freezes in my mouth at the look of sheer horror in his eyes. That's when I hear a neighing of a horse, but it's not coming from Andrea. Turning my gaze away from Max's bowed head and trembling body, I spot Alexander's distinctive golden mane appearing through the darkness. My father, clad in black that contrasts the white coat of his horse, is approaching us looking like a skilled equestrienne.

My gaze locks with his cold hazel eyes, like looking into the eye of an upcoming storm. Whatever passes for a tiny smile curls up the side of Dad's lips, ruining that passive expression he has on.

"Bradley."

A small nod. "Dad."

He lowers his gaze to the petrified boy standing next to my horse and snickers. "You're falling behind, son. Still need someone to hold your horse for you?"

Max flinches under Dad's gaze, his shaking grip on the reins making Andrea somewhat tetchy.

I look up at my father, his eyes on me now and a smug smile forms on his lips. "Watch how far I've progressed."

I watch him demonstrate by trotting around us competently and gracefully, throwing me a few smiles every time our eyes meet. I return them with a bit of force. It's always like him, shoving it in my face whenever he succeeds at something I'm struggling with. I'm certainly not looking forward for the lecture that's gonna follow.

He stops in front of me, a bushy eyebrow going up in expectance.

"Impressive, Dad."

Smug smile is back, almost causing me to vomit. Squiring his shoulders, he pulls on the reins and starts walking away, and just when I think I'm safe, the hooves of his horse stop on the grass.

"By the way, I invited the Richardson boys over."

I look at him over my shoulder with a matching passive face. "Did you?"

"They're standup young men. Tough and adamant, know what they want. The kind of boys I want you to socialize with."

The smile is lost, leaving behind a face of a father who is not satisfied at all with the son he has. I look away, a muscle in my jaw working as I feel something tight and painful swell in my chest.

"Let's go, Max," I mumble the command in a faint voice, hearing my father leave.

The boy is still frozen in his place.

"Max!"

Snapped out of his terrified state, he starts leading us away. We take a couple of rounds around the estate, not going back to the stable until I'm perfectly sure Dad has returned the horse and went back into the mansion.

* * *

Riley and Owen are the infamous Richardson boys my father is so fond of. Sixteen year old cousins living in the same house for years after Owen's mom had divorced his father and moved in with her brother. Other than sharing the same bedroom, they also go to the same school, take the same classes, and play in the same football team. Athletic and strong-built, not to mention destined to take over Mr. Richardson's business after his retirement. Having their future planned out for them by the senior Richardson doesn't bother them at all, no wonder Dad is so fascinated with them.

We haven't really gotten along despite our parents being good friends. Though we're all into sports, albeit different fields, there's not much in common between us. They're jocks in every sense of the word; machos, womanizers, and use ridiculous phrases like "Let's go to the party and scope some b's". But unlike your stereotype jocks, they are quite the academic achievers. And a bit uptight. A little too do-gooders. Reputation matters the most, a tune my father never tires of singing.

Speaking of the old man, I can't believe he found the time in his busy schedule to come and greet my unwanted guests. He'd even complimented their matching outfits – aren't we a little desperate there, Pop? This whole charade is looking so much like an arranged marriage. What got up my grill was that little squeeze of warning on my arm as I led the guys into the game room; the unsaid don't screw this one up. Fine, Dad, if that's what you want, then so be it.

"Dude, I got you!" Owen hollers, winning another round of pool against me.

I brush a finger on my thick eyebrow, grimacing when Owen whistles in my ear. He can't tell I'm letting him win, even though I've aimed at the colored balls in every round. After another drilling whistle, I poke him out of my way with my stick. His wild laughter is more deafening than his whistling.

I walk over toward Riley, sitting on the ping-pong table with a bowl of chips in his lap. Snatching a chip from the bowl, I pop it into my mouth and hop on the table next to him.

Riley digs his hand into the bowl and scoops up a fistful of chips, jamming them into his mouth. "Wanna lose against me this time?" I grimace as he spits all over me.

"Not really," I grunt, wiping my face. "Turns out pool isn't really my thing."

He pats the table he's sitting on. "What about table tennis?"

Something in my chest twitches a little. "Only if we're switching the balls with meatballs."

"What?"

I shake my head, even though I can't shake the nostalgic grin off my face. "Nothing."

Owen hops on the pool table with a bottle of soda. "Dude ain't into indoor sports anymore, bro. Heard he's got a pony."

"She's not a pony," I protest, watching him drink half of the bottle with one long swallow.

"_She_?" Riley barks a laugh. "You riding a chick horse?"

I throw him a meaningful look. "Would you like it better if I was riding a guy instead?"

Owen chokes on the soda and starts coughing – oh, yeah, they're also homophobes. Some stereotypes ought to stick.

A mighty smack on my back sends me flying off the table and onto the floor. Tasting the blood from the cuts where I bit my tongue, I glower up at Riley roaring with laughter. He wipes a tear then looks down at me with his tiny twinkling eyes. "Hey, can we see the pony?"

"She's not a freaking… and _no_, it's too late now."

"It's seven thirty, man. Night is young."

"Not too young for the horse."

The cousins stare at each other briefly before making their way out of the room, bowls of chips and dip accompanying them as well.

"Where are you going?" I snap in exhaustion.

"To see the pony," Riley says simply, disappearing out of the room.

"Again, she's not a _pony_!"

* * *

As expected, Andrea is already asleep in her stall, lying down on the soft ground with a red silky blanket draped on her back. Arms lazily resting on the wooden fence, I gaze down at her peaceful form with a soft smile on my lips. I remember those couple of days when she was completely my responsibility, putting her to sleep made me feel important and useful, something I never got to experience growing up here.

"I'm bored," Riley grumbles like a ten year old boy, disappointment causing him to shove move chips into his mouth. Makes me wonder about this bowl, still filled with chips. Sort of like that magic porridge pot story Mom used to read for me in the dear good old days.

"Can we ride that one?" Owen points at Alexander whom Goofy is taking into his stall.

I shake my head. "That's Dad's horse. He won't allow it, that's for sure." I roll my eyes at their childish booing. "Horses need to sleep all night to get their rest, guys. They're like humans."

Goofy pops his head out of Alexander's stall, sticking his nosy nose into a business that isn't his own. "Actually…"

My look of warning zips his lips shut – which is a miracle on itself, seeing as he isn't usually the sharp type.

"Dude, can we like touch it?" Riley says, extending a hand through the fence and reaching for Andrea's mane.

I shove him back and watch him fall on his butt with satisfaction. "A world of no."

"Dude!"

"Yo, man, can you get it out?" Owen motions for Goofy to come over and then points at Andrea.

I shove him as well. "Hey!"

Seeing how irritated I am, Goofy places his hands on his hips and shakes his head. "Oh, I believe my work here is done. Them horsies have been out galloping around all day. They need their rest." He throws me an exaggerated wink, which I return with a very fierce glare.

"Hey, you do as we say." Owen looks at me. "Right, Bradley?"

I scoff at the bullying tone in the douchebag's voice. "Look, he's not even the one responsible for her."

"Then get the other stable guy."

"Oh, my son is probably doing his homework right now," Goofy says with an unnecessary chuckle. He takes a chip from the abandoned bowl resting on the giant bale of hay and dips it into the yogurt before popping it into his mouth.

The guys' jaws drop to the ground – for a minute I thought they were offended that the stableman is helping himself into their chips but then Riley exclaims, "Your son? Homework?" He turns to me with wide eyes. "You've got a stable guy who's our age?"

"He's in ninth grade." Pursing my lips, I wish Goofy and I have kept our mouths shut. I really don't like where this is going.

"A high school freshman!" Owen exclaims. "Too bad, we could have had our fun with him."

Goofy's face lights up. "Oh, what a great idea! I'll go get him."

"Mr. Goof," I try to talk him out of it, but the man turns around shaking his head and his hands while walking backwards.

"No, no! I'm a-going right this minute to get him." He steps on a bale of hay on his way, then starts hopping and shaking his leg to free his foot. "I'm sure he's gonna love having fun with you boys. Just waaaaaait!" Releasing his usual holler, he trips into a cart that rushes right into an empty stall. Thuds and cries of pain flare up from inside, and then Goofy flies out of the stall and falls into a barrel. It falls to its side and then starts rolling out of the stable with Goofy's legs sticking out.

The three of us stare speechlessly for a moment.

"He's a few clowns short of a circus," Riley comments with a nod.

Seeing as my thinner form is no match for their giant, athletic bodies, I had to whip the two idiots out of the stable before they freaked out the sleeping horses. Now we're sitting on the rock bench, waiting for Max to show up. Each glance directed at the stable is met with a fierce glare and a threatening smack on the dusty ground. This useless black whip has been hanging on the wall for as long as I remember – never considered using it on Andrea and never will. It's only for the douchbags.

Max is taking his time all right, making me feel somewhat relieved, 'cause I know hanging out with us will bring nothing but disaster.

"He's not coming." I hop off the rock bench and nod my chin at the house. "Let's go back inside."

"Not so fast," Owen says, sitting up straight.

I turn around and feel my heart sinking in my chest, watching Yoli dragging a silent Max behind her. Head bowed, causing his ears to dangle on a red short-sleeved hoodie, hands stuffed in the pockets of baggy, blue pants. The gloomy expression on his face tells me he was talked into this. He, like me, knows how much of a bad idea this whole thing is going to be.

Yoli flashes a bright smile, pulling Max to stand next to her with a force. "Hello, young masters. So, what are you up to?"

Riley stands up in excitement. "When can we ride…"

I bump him with my elbow. "Nothing. We were just going back to the game room."

"Cool. You four have fun."

"Wait a minute," Max says, yanking his hand out of Yoli's grip. "The game room is inside the house."

The memory of Max crying in bed, his bare back covered with scars, rushes into my head. I can easily see the traces of fear underneath the false façade of bravery.

Yoli's expression softens and she brushes a gentle hand on his arm. "There's nothing to be afraid of, quequito. Go on with them."

He shakes his head. "Look, this isn't a good idea…"

"Max, everything will be fine," she interrupts him, and then looks at me with a stern face. "Right?"

She knows me so well, and as much as I don't like this idea, I have no choice but to relent. "Yeah."

She extends her hand with a raised eyebrow, and I hand her the black whip. As she walks toward the stable to return it to its place, the four of us start making our way toward the house. We, eleventh graders, take the lead with Max trailing after us silently, looking like he wants to disappear behind a bush and escape into the safety of his tiny closet.

Throwing swift glances at him over my shoulder, I can see how nervous he is about entering the forbidden house. Something inside me urges me to reassure him that my father isn't inside and will possibly not return until tomorrow. But I can't risk having the two musclebrains knowing a thing about Dad's dictatorial rules, especially when they already look so suspicious.

A nudge on my arm followed with a whisper, "What was all that about?"

Casting a tight grin at Owen, I shake my head. "Nothing."

Riley smacks my back, causing me to stumble a couple of steps ahead. "So, Bradley, introduce us."

I'm really not in the mood for formalities, particularly when knowing what Riley wants from this. Nodding my head at the jocks' direction, I say, "Riley and Owen Richardson." Then another nod at Max's direction, "Max Goof."

That did not please Riley's ego, lips puffed into a girly pout that looks ridiculous on his square macho face. "Hey, at least tell him what my father owns."

Owen clasps his shoulder with a laugh. "That'll take the whole evening."

Both collide in indulgent laughter while I roll my eyes.

"You guys go to the same school?" Max finally speaks, a bored tone dominating his voice.

"No," Riley exclaims in offence. "Dad thinks King's Academy isn't prep enough…"

I try to block out Riley's blathering about what defines a worthy private educational institution with high tuition and top-notch facilities. When he starts bragging about something, he never shuts up. Peering at Max over my shoulder, he already looks as uninterested as I am.

"What high school do you go to, Max?" Owen asks, after his cousin pauses to take a breather.

Max shrugs. "Just a regular public school."

"You mean you don't have uniforms?" Owen asks in horror.

Max gives an amused headshake.

Riley slaps Owen on the head. "You moron, they can't afford uniforms."

"But most school districts offer financial help for less fortunate families," Owen reasons.

I slow down my steps until I'm walking next to Max. "If they grasp their ears firmly and pull; they might just be able to remove their heads from their asses."

Max tries to stifle a laugh, looking up at me with a matching smile.

The game room stinks with the stench of chips and dip that has been lingering in the air since we left the room. Max and I rush toward the windows and push them open to get rid of the cooped up smell. Searching around for an air freshener, I feel myself close to vomiting.

Just as I'm about to ask Max to fetch one from Yoli, Riley smacks his wide forehead and groans, "We forgot the chips in the stable."

I feel something coming up my throat, and my stomach cringes. I plaster my palm on my mouth as I start dry heaving, having only ate a couple of chips. Max eyes me with worry.

Owen nods along with his cousin. "Max, go get us more chips. Maybe two bowls of those crunchy, spicy ones."

Max gives Owen a look, not moving an inch.

Riley gives him a shove. "Didn't you hear him? Go get the chips."

Max crosses his arms over his chest. "Why me?"

Both older boys gasp and look at me in offence. All I can see at the moment is Dad's furious face and the belt in his hands, so I turn to Max with hard stare. "Go get the chips."

His look of disbelief annoys me, so I bark, "Now!"

I can feel the palpable anger beginning to emanate from him and expect him to blow up in my face, but instead he huffs a "Fine!" and walks out of the room.

What's got up his ass? Just because we shared a smile earlier doesn't mean we're equals now. Darn it, I forgot to tell him to get an air freshener.

Riley pats me on the back. "Gotta hand it to ya, Bradley. Having your own servant?"

"And a kid, too," Owen puts in. "You know, there comes a time when you feel a little awkward giving orders to older people."

I hold in a burp, feeling nausea building up in my chest again. Moving to the opened window, I stick my head out and inhale the fresh scent of the trees. Even though I start to feel better, I can't block the nauseating sounds of the jocks' conversation behind me.

"Kids are more fun to order around. How about we see how much we can tease him before he cracks?"

In horror, I whirl around and watch them snicker between themselves. "Guys, look, we came here to play, right? Maybe you should leave him alone."

Riley walks over to me and pats me again – God, I wish I can break his beefy hand. "Don't worry, dude. We're not gonna drain him for ya."

"Shh, there he comes," Owen whispers with an evil glint in his eye.

Max walks in with a bowl of chips in one hand and a tray filled with different types of dip on the other. Owen extends his leg to trip the boy, but Max walks around it effortlessly.

The immaturity of it all is driving me crazy, so I grab a pool cue and walk to the pool table. "Okay, so I was thinking since we're all an even number, how about…"

"Oops, sorry."

I turn around and see that Riley has dropped a bunch of chips on the floor. He motions for Max with his finger to pick them up. Max blinks at him in confusion.

"Aren't you gonna clean it up?" Owen asks, purposely spitting giant crumbs of chips on the floor.

Max looks like he's about to commit a murder. "Excuse me, but who gave you the impression that I'm the houseboy here?"

I better put a stop to this before it gets ugly, especially when giant Riley is approaching tiny Max while rolling up his sleeves. I jump between the two, my hand pressing against Riley's chest, barely keeping him in place.

I look down at Max with a scowl. "Do what he says. Now."

Our eyes meet with an intense flair of unspoken resentment. Silence takes place, even the Richardson boys seem to tell that tension is thickening in the room. Max's face a blank page, bare of emotions, scares me to the core. He has always been a good kid, always plays by the rules, and despite his bad temper, he never really attempted to do something nasty. However, it seems like I keep stabbing him in the back for the past few days, it's only a matter of time before he cracks.

A muscle in his jaw works. "Fine, _Master Bradley_."

I flinch at the way he says it, watching him grab a handful of tissues and then bend to collect the crumbs on the floor. As someone who had enjoyed watching this kid rubbing his face in the mud to fetch a necklace for me, suddenly I feel a splash of disgust over what's going on here. The whole thing looks like a setup to humiliate him, I won't be surprised if he thinks this is the deal.

As he rises up, our eyes meet again, and a flicker of emotion taints his passive expression. I'm not sure if it's my slumped shoulders or my unhappy face, but something in me breaks the ice surrounding him.

"You missed a spot…"

Riley is pointing at a new patch of crumbs on the floor next to him. As Max walks over to the mess Riley made, I notice Owen digging his hand into the bowl and then spraying chips around the room. "Over here…"

When he starts dropping chips on Max's head, I can't take it anymore. "Max, go get a broom."

He leaves the room without a word, throwing the chips in his hands into the trashcan on his way.

After he leaves the room, I spin around and glower at the giant bullies in the room. "You were way outta line!"

Owen scoffs. "What?"

"This is way too far."

Riley holds up his hands. "Relax, dude. Don't get your pants in a twist."

Owen shrugs. "He's just a servant."

"He's _not_," I snap, fighting the urge to karate kick each one in the stomach. "He works at the stable, taking care of my horse. That's his job."

Hearing someone walking into the room, I turn around about to tell Max to go back to the dorm. My words die in my throat when I see Yoli standing at the door with one of the maids; her stern look fills me with dread. Max appears from behind Yoli, not meeting my eyes. If he feels any bit of guilt for telling on me, he doesn't show it at all. Actually, he looks a bit content with the turn of events.

Yoli points at the mess scattered around us in disgust. "Get into it, Dorothy."

The pretty young maid starts working at once, her perky movements the only sound in the room.

Yoli folds her arms over her chest and lifts an eyebrow at us. "So, boys, how are we doing tonight?"

The Richardson boys purse their lips in displeasure while I give an uneasy side grin. "Great."

Her cold eyes are on me now. "Bradley, sidebar?"

Heaving a sigh, I follow her out of the game room, bumping shoulders with Max on the way. That little tattle tale.

Reaching the kitchen, Yoli turns around to glare at me, her foot tapping on the floor in a creepy rhythm. "I thought you wanted Max to join you so that the four of you can have fun together."

With my hands in my pockets, I return her glare with a level stare. "I did not want Max to join us."

"Then why send his father to get him?"

"Look, Goofy heard what he wanted to hear."

"Listen, young man, I did not force that kid out of his room to be ordered around like a dog." Her hard stare softens into a look of confusion. "Remember when Max first came here? How happy and excited you were to have another kid around? You two were very close, whatever happened to that?"

_Nothing. It just never happened,_is on the tip of my tongue, but I force it down with a struggle. Sighing again, I brush a hand over my shaggy hair and give her a reluctant shrug. "I'll tell the guys to back off. Don't worry."

She points a finger at me. "You better."

I drag my feet back to the game room, wishing I could just call it the night and send everyone back home. My dad won't like that though.

I spot Max helping Dorothy tidying up the game room, but there's no sign of Riley and Owen. "Where are they?"

Max gives me a cool stare while cleaning underneath the pool table. "They went up to your room."

A wave of absolute horror sweeps over me. "What?! Who let them… shit!"

I let out a small aghast croak and leap out of the room. _No, no, no, no!_Racing up the stairs, my heart skipping a beat with each step, I trip and hit my nose against the rung. Horrible pain shoots all over my face, but it doesn't stop me from jumping to my feet and running toward my room.

My bedroom door is opened and bright light is emanating from inside. I feel my stomach lurch, my knees momentarily weakening as I stare at my sport magazines strewn around the room, my desk a mess, my closet wide open. But what horrifies me is Riley holding up my stash of cigarettes and giving a judgmental headshake.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I snap, going inside and snatching my cigarettes from him.

He arches an eyebrow. "Does your father know you _smoke_?"

Owen lifts up the unfinished painting of my mother over his head. "Bradley, who's this hottie?"

"Get out! Get the fuck out of here!"

A newfound boost of strength takes over me as I singlehandedly kick both larger boys out of my room. With the help of my skateboard, I also manage to smack them out of my house as well. Eyes burning with fury, I watch them go into their fancy car and drive away. They're gone. They're gone. I can't stop shaking, though. I still can't breathe!

In my private studio, going through my things, touching my stuff – how in hell did it occur to them to go snooping in my stuff? How did they even know where my room is?

My face still expressionless, I can feel my eyes darkening to almost black.

_Max!_

I hurry back to the game room, but the lights are off and no one is inside. Rushing out of the house again, I can see him through eyes blurred with rage walking away in triumph. Still shaking all over, clouded with rage, I can feel my fingernails digging into my palms. So frigging angry, I start marching toward him with full speed – who the hell does he think he is?

I pounce at him from behind, both of us crashing to the ground and sending clouds of dust to the air. I pin him by my weight, straddling his legs and knocking all the air out of him. He bucks in an attempt to writhe away from me, but I grab his flailing arms and push them onto the ground, holding him still.

"Think you're gonna get away with this?" I bark at the back of his head. "I know you sent them there! Your stinking little revenge, right?"

Face pressed against the rough ground, he mutters a muffled admission, "I did send them there."

I flip him around until we're face to face, his dirty features pale under the half-moon's faint light. "Jerk! Do you have any idea what you did?"

His eyes are the color of steel and twice as cold. "Who gave you the impression that I care?"

Too angry to think straight, I drive a couple of punches to his face. He flashes bloody teeth as he grins up at me. "Is that the best you've got?"

I punch him again, not feeling the slightest bit better about it.

He lets out an aggravating chuckle. "Oh, boy, violence runs in the family."

The anger begins to burn again. "Shut up, asshole!"

His eyes dance with a ridiculing glint. "Like father like son."

"You're the one to talk."

"At least my father doesn't beat the crap out of people."

What he says throws me, my grip on his arms soften as his observation sinks inside. Taking advantage of my shocked state, he kicks me off of him and rises up to his feet. With a gloved hand wiping the blood from his mouth, he throws me a cold stare and then heads back to the dorm.

* * *

I didn't go to the stable today, didn't want to be in the same room with Max until I'm over the disaster that was last night. Thing is, I don't wanna be locked up in my room either. I can still see them here, going through my stuff, invading my privacy, passing judgment and mocking me. Their fingerprints cover my paintings, and my cigarettes smell of them. This room, my safety net, doesn't feel so safe anymore.

I can't help it. I just can't let a day go by without seeing Andrea, without brushing my hand over her brown coat and feeling her muzzle against my cheek. It's already sunset, so Max has probably gone home by now.

Outside the stable walks Goofy with a bale of hay in his arms. His wide grin upon seeing me fills me with the warmth I desperately need. "We missed you today, Bradley. How come you didn't drop by?"

I return his smile, stuffing my hand in my pockets. "Lots of homework, Mr. Goof."

"Oh, Maxie has got a math test tomorrow. All luck to you, boys."

Speaking of Maxie, there he is, exiting the stable, slumped shoulders and all. When he catches me, he stops walking and looks at me with a blank face. I can easily see the faint purple color spreading on his jaw and cheek where I punched him yesterday.

"You're done for the day?"

"Yeah," he mutters.

I head into the stable, the smile on my lips wavers when my gaze lands on Andrea.

"Wait a minute, Max," I call after the retreating boy. "Where's her blanket?"

Max paces inside and looks at an uncovered, sleeping Andrea. He lets out a light laugh that grates me. "Gosh, I forgot."

"If I didn't swing by, you would've left her uncovered."

He gives an easy shrug. "It's no big deal. Horses don't actually need them."

"You don't decide what a big deal is, all right?" I tower over him with my taller frame. "My horse could have been cold to death because of your recklessness."

He lets out a scoff. "Dude, she's a _horse_. She can handle it."

I can feel my eyes flashing red, and they must have, judging by his little wince. "I can't just ignore that slip. Tonight, you're sleeping on that pile of hay without a cover."

His mouth hangs open in disbelief. "I'm _not_."

"You will. I'm your master." I grab him by the collar and pull him up until my nose is pressed against his. "Besides, I can go to my dad and make up whatever lie I want to get you and your pop in trouble."

I feel his hot breath on my cheeks, looking right into his eyes filled with hatred and contempt. "Do you have to work that hard to be a jerk or does it come naturally?"

I push him out of my way and head for the door, the voice inside me nagging me about going way too far. I know I am, but I'm just so freaking angry with him. I want him to suffer. I want him to taste the hurt and anger I felt yesterday. What he did, sending those jerks to my room, is way worse than this.

"Can I ask you something?" his question stops me. "What have I done wrong?"

I bark a laugh and turn around to face him with an amused grin. "Did you just miss the conversation we just had?"

"No, I mean… when I first came here you were different. You were the one who made it so bearable around here, and then suddenly you became the male equivalent of Cinderella's stepmother."

The emotions in his face and voice disturb me. He sounds so sincerely hurt and confused that I find myself unable to say a word. Taking off his cap, he brushes his hair back with a trembling hand and takes a deep breath, "You taught me everything I needed to know about, well, all of this, and now you're pretending you know nothing just to humiliate me?"

His eyes are fixed on me intently. "What did I do to make you hate me so much?"

Still stunned about the emotions reflected before me, so used to his expressionless face and flat voice, I just stare back at his dark eyes. Shaking, but determined, his jaw looks like it has been cast in iron as he waited for an answer.

"I'll be watching you from my room."

Not exactly what he wants to hear, not exactly the ideal answer to his emotional speech. I just have nothing to say about all of this. It wasn't me who welcomed Max into this house, wasn't me who taught him everything about horsemanship, and it certainly wasn't me who wanted to befriend him.

Just as I walk out of the stable, long arms wrap around my legs, almost causing me to fall flat on my face. Goofy clutches my legs with a death grip, looking up at me with eyes brimming with tears. "I couldn't help overhearing. Please, Bradley, let me sleep there instead. He's got that math test I told you about and he hasn't studied yet."

As gently as possible, I wrench my legs out of his tight hold. "Bring him his books. He can study here."

"Please, Bradley, it's a cold night. Let him use a blanket."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Goof, but he needs to be taught a lesson."

"But, he's right. Them horsies don't need a blankie. In fact, it sometimes brings more harm than good."

"Dad!" Max is glaring down at his father. "The last thing I want is your help."

He turns his cold eyes to me and puts on his cap. "I'll go get my books."

Watching him take jaded steps toward the dorms, I call after him, "Don't bother changing your clothes either."

He flinches, but then carries on walking.

"But then, he'll have to get up early to take a shower…"

"Dad," Max snaps, looking over his shoulder with a face filled with hate and resentment. A face no one should wear while talking to Goofy. "Stop butting in!"

"Careful, there – if the redness in your face is any indication, your blood pressure is on the rise." No one is as shocked as Goofy over my spiteful defense, poor guy not used to having someone sticking up to him. I'm instantly reminded of when I had stood up to Pete defending Goofy in the previous timeline.

My eyes, cold and hard, staring Max's shocked face down, shaming him for his outbursts. Eventually, a gentle brush on Goofy's arm followed by a small apologetic smile on behalf of an ungrateful son, and I make my way back toward the mansion, leaving the two in a complete state of stunned silence.

* * *

The air is filled with the toxic smell of cigarettes; transparent smoke floating in the ceiling like the room is set on fire. The room is pitching black, except for the faint moon light falling on the painting of my mother before me. Perched on the closed window ledge, I stare at the painting through the dancing smoke, still incomplete, and will probably never be in this timeline. Not when I can clearly see the ugly fingerprints on the margins.

Idly playing with the cigarette putts that are gathered on the floor around my foot, I rest my head against the window glass and glance outside at the stable. I notice the light coming from inside flickering for a moment – Max is still studying for the math test.

I try to picture him sitting crossed-legged on the hay, the text book on his lap and he's tapping his forehead with the pencil. Feeling a pang of guilt swelling in my chest, I crush it down into nothingness immediately. He deserves it. One more glance at my ruined painting – he definitely deserves it.

My drowsy eyes snap at attention at the sight of Goofy sneaking into the stable with a blanket and a pair of pajamas. I sit up straight, feelings of guilt transplanted into anger – my orders were loud and clear, this isn't acceptable!

Still considering whether I should march down there and throw a fit, I feel my eyes widening even more when the blanket and the PJs are tossed out of the stable. Max is pushing his father outside in apparent fury, one more aggressive push and Goofy falls down on the floor. The kid is yelling something at his father before going inside and snapping the stable's door shut behind him.

My heart breaks slightly at that look of pain on Goofy's face. Helplessly and silently, I watch him pick up the blanket and pajamas and head back to the dorms.

Suddenly, my door swings open with a squeak, and I bite on the cigarette in my mouth, feeling cold all over, my heart in my mouth. Dad is nothing more than a shadow bordered by the faint light from outside, his white-knuckled hand clutching my doorknob in fury. For a moment, everything is quiet and still, his eyes looking right at me, cold and firm.

"So, it's true," he says in a flat voice, gaze focused on the cigarette in my mouth. "Did you really kick the Richardson boys out of the house?"

My heartbeat bang loud and clear in my ears, and in a moment of panic, I find myself blowing puffs of smoke in the air.

Dad's eyes harden even more. "Put that down."

I'm frozen in place, unable to think, unable to move, just waiting for the pain. He strides toward me and I wince in advance, but then he just takes the cigarette out of my mouth and tosses it on the floor. "Why the hell did you do that?"

My gaze locked with the way he stamps the cigarette out with his black shoe, making sure he put it down completely.

"Damn it, Bradley! Do you have any idea how humiliated I was… to hear about my son smoking weed…"

I hold up the pack of cigarette to his line of sight. "They're just cigarettes, Dad."

He smacks the pack out of my hand. "You have a lot of nerve!"

All of a sudden, I feel myself firing up with anger. "And why do you care? You drink."

"That's different."

"That's hypocrisy."

"You're talking back to me?"

"You're gonna hit me again?"

Feeling the anger and tension coil up another notch, I watch how his features smooth into a look of horror. His lips flutter and his brows furrow in shock. "I'm not… Bradley, I'm just…"

"A bunch of lame ass excuses," I cut him off spitefully.

"Now look here, young man," he says, his voice rigid with the effort of remaining under control. "You're gonna apologize to Riley and Owen."

A shocked laugh escapes my mouth. "I will _not_."

"Yes, you will if you know what's best to you."

I feel a sick feeling right in the pit of my stomach and my voice comes out oddly strained as I ask, "Is that a threat?"

Awful ripping hurt tearing through me and something stings in my eyes, watching him look around my room in apparent disappointment and disgust. He stares at the painting of my mother, and no, _this_I can't just stand still and take – gotta get outta here! I flee out of my room, barely watching where I'm going, running instead on instinct, letting my reflexes carry me anywhere. Any place where he isn't there.

_Will never be good enough. Will never be good enough._I run faster, harder, trying not to listen to the wailing voice inside. Each step feels like a piece of my heart falling, each step pounding through my bones, hurts so much.

Feeling numbness spreading all over me, I stumble and collapse on the ground right in front of the stable. Hot, thick tears sliding down my cheeks, my eyes burn holes on the walls, despising the person inside.

Slow, heavy steps, I push the stable's door with a loud squeak. There he is, spread on the hay, lost in a deep sleep. His text book and notebook are open, and he's still holding his pencil in his hand. Looming over him, I look down at him, breathing evenly against the strands of hay.

I hate him! I despise him with great passion. Little piece of shit doesn't know how lucky he is, going around and playing victim, ruining my life every chance he gets.

Fetching the black whip, I can feel the ruthless, merciless burn in my eyes. I hate him!

I hold the whip up high, teeth clenching tightly, angry eyes focused on the unaware, peaceful face. Going for a strike, Goofy jumps out of nowhere in front of me and catches the whip.

I try to jerk it out of his grip, but his hand has a dead hold on it. "Let it go," I hiss in anger.

"Please, don't do it. Hit me instead."

"Damn it!" I yank the whip out of his hand and toss it away in frustration. "Why do you care so much? He treats you like crap and you're here willing to take a bullet for him?"

His face becomes somber with guilt. "I deserve his anger," he admits softly, glancing down at his son. "I'm the reason he's away from his home, his school and his friends. I'm the reason he's forced to work for nothing to pay my debts."

Swallowing down some painful lump in my throat, I stare into his tearful eyes in silence.

"Besides, no matter what he says or does, I'll always love him. He's my only son."

I bite on my quivering lip, feeling myself beginning to rock back and forth, my vision blurred with unshed tears. A gasp escapes my mouth when I feel his gentle hands on my shoulders, pulling me into a tight embrace. I can't hold it in anymore, I just… I explode.

I'm crying, shaking violently in his arms. Still rocking, wanting to strike out and break something. I hear myself ask it out loud, to which Goofy tightens his hug even more.

"Why can't he love me?!"

Goofy is silent, just embracing me, keeping me from flying apart. Feelings of hate, anger, pain, come crashing down on me as I press my face even further into the man's shoulder. Gripping him and never letting go. He lets me, never stops holding me.

Even as my sobs wane into soft hiccups, he never lets go. Standing there and holding the boy who was about to beat his son with a whip, all while Max is sleeping on the hay, unaware of what's going on around him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

"Bradley…"

I stop on my tracks, almost stumbling over the fold in the carpet, so eager to get to the stable I can hardly think straight. After two days of mastering the walk – now without needing Max to hold the reins for me – I'm ready for the next step. Sooner or later, I'll be a pro, galloping down hills and riding bridleless. Maybe I'll get a professional photographer to take a picture of me jumping over a fence. I can picture it right now; Andrea's legs stretched out while in the air and I'm rocking my new equestrian clothing bought specifically for the occasion, wearing a decisive, sexy scowl on my face.

"Yes, Dad?"

He looks a little bit skittish in his formal wear, approaching me like a high school nerd about to ask a cheerleader out – not that I'm implying that my dad is a nerd. I'm certainly not implying that _I'm_a cheerleader, I don't have the legs for it. Dad adjusts his glasses and tucks the morning newspaper under his arm. "Could you wait a minute," he says with an apprehensive smile. "I was wondering if you'd like to go riding with me this afternoon."

I stare at him like he's grown three heads. This is so… I won't say "unexpected" 'cause that's an understatement; shocking beyond belief is more like it. We haven't spoken a word to each other since that fateful night when he barged into my room demanding I should apologize to the Richardson boys or else. I was waiting for something drastic, like shipping me off to military school or maybe take away my horse, but it seems that Dad has forgotten completely about the disgrace I caused him.

"So, what do you say? I see you're already on your way," he says, nodding his chin to my riding clothes. "I won't take long."

He looks so nervous and it's weirding me out. I can't believe it. My father actually wants to do something with me? Yeah, I remember that so-called promise about riding together the first night I got here, but that was a week ago. I'm fairly sure he was bluffing just to make himself look good.

A very genuine smile is forming on my lips. The whole awkwardness surrounding him, so afraid of my rejection, he really wants to do this. Though I can't shake the doubt knotting in my stomach, this is so sudden after all, still, happiness is already swooping over me. My dad wants to go riding with me!

Looking relieved with my smile, he retrieves his usual confidence. "I think we're ready for our first galloping off into the sunset. I'm sure you've already mastered trotting, haven't you?"

The smile on my lips wanes, my happy expression going numb all of a sudden. So, that's what it's all about, long hours of enduring his bragging and lectures, just another opportunity to put me down and teach me how to be a man.

All my fears are confirmed by the overflowing excitement shining through his glasses. "I can teach you a few tricks. What do you say?"

I can't believe he can't sense my disappointment when I've got my droopy face on. "As tempting as that sounds, I'd rather learn on my own."

He gets that annoying look on his face. "Alone?"

Squaring my shoulders, I'm already heading for the door. "I'm not really alone. I've got Max to help me."

"The stable boy?"

My hand on the doorknob, I look at him over my shoulder. God, if I've missed the disgust in his voice, his expression drips of it, with something else that jolts me to my core.

"Yep. I'm all set," I say, a bit disturbed over what I just sensed in his tone. "Maybe we can do this some other time."

Perhaps walking out of the mansion and leaving him standing there like an idiot isn't the best move, but then I'm not really in my right mind. _My dad is jealous of Max over me_! Of _Max_! _Over me_! How ridiculous is that? The richest man in New England having pitiful jealousy feelings for some fourteen year old, well, _nothing._

But then maybe I'm overthinking this because it's just too ridiculous, doesn't even have any bases of reality. Dad's probably upset that I chose to learn my riding lessons with a stable boy over him and that's it. It doesn't have to have a deeper meaning into it.

Now there he is, my stable boy, waiting for me in front of the stable with Andrea already prepared and ready. I'm all psyched, Andrea looks psyched, Max… I'm not sure, he's hiding behind Andrea completely out of my sight.

Hopping on her strong back, I bite my lower lip eagerly. This is it! New step, here I come. I look down at Max, expecting to see the same enthusiasm on his expression, but the brim of his cap is hiding his face from me. For the first time since I got here, his cap is worn like it's supposed to be worn, _not_backwards.

"Max?"

"Yeah?"

"Look at me when I'm talking to you," I say, my voice somewhat snappish.

He hesitates but obeys eventually.

"What's that?" I narrow my eyes at the wide blue mark covering his half-opened left eye.

He looks away in apparent shame. "It's, uh, fine. I fell."

"You think I was born yesterday? Who did this to you?"

He shrugs and mumbles something hard to hear.

"Come again?"

"A bully at school."

"Oh."

Max gets bullied at school? There's a new one. He's always been so popular in college that the mere thought of him being a target for bullies never crossed my mind. I was the only jock who bullied him, but he always fought back. I just can't see him as a victim. Maybe it's this new reality, Max's current financial state ought to make him the school's hottest butt-monkey.

"Yeah." He scratches the back of his neck in embarrassment. "So, are you gonna do this or what?"

I save him what's left of his dignity and let the matter slide. I'm already brimming with excitement, I can feel myself fly, which will be the case as trotting is all about the bouncing.

That wasn't as easy as it looks, most of the time I felt like falling off of Andrea. I don't know why my father didn't get an experienced riding instructor for the both of us. Relying on the Goofs' superficial knowledge – Max's main source was _me _and a few of my books. Goofy mentioned something about a "How to" book, but I don't think that's enough to teach someone how to properly ride a horse. Especially English style, the one we're aiming for, for all I know we're probably mixing Western with English and creating a brand new riding style.

Damnit, I've learned nothing today! It's already been two hours and I've yet to sit right, couldn't even straighten my back for a second. I obviously look like a dweeb – caught Max stifling a laugh a few times, but pretended I haven't noticed. I'm really glad I refused Dad's offer to ride together. I can take Max's scorn but _not _my father's holier than thou attitude.

Speaking of the devil, _shit!_, I can see him riding between the various trees in the small forest. What the hell is he doing here? I made it perfectly clear I wanted to do this with Max. Must be his petty jealousy fuses blowing up like atom bombs.

I feel a sudden, invisible light bulb snapping on over my head and then I glance down at _my stable boy_. Man, what I'd do to just hear that jealousy in my dad's voice again, like a Christmas song in the middle of summer.

"Max, wanna go for a ride?"

Dark eyebrows fly up in shock. "Me?"

"Why not? You work hard to take care of her. You deserve to ride her."

"That sounds disturbingly gross," he says with a nervous laugh. Now it's my turn to lift up my eyebrows.

Still looking shell-shocked, Max shakes his head no but can't quite say it. "I don't think…"

"You're always too cautious."

"'Cause it worked so well for me _not _being cautious before." A small frown knits his eyebrows together.

"I promise everything will be all right this time."

"There's no shred of truth in that sentence, is there?"

I roll my eyes. "Just hop on."

"I don't know…"

I'm starting to lose my patience, especially when my dad is about to get out of the woods any second now. Time to play the 'Master' card. "This is an order!"

"Oh, get off your high horse!"

"I'd rather you get on it."

He lets out an exasperated huff, crossing his arms over his chest. "I've never ridden a horse in my life."

"You won't do anything. I'm the one in charge."

"Now I'm so relieved."

"Hop. On."

He sighs, but takes my extended hand and climbs up. "This is a bad idea. I know it."

The clumsy idiot almost falls to the ground from the other side, but I catch him in time and he ends up draped on Andrea's back. His cap, though, slips off his head to the muddy ground. I shake my head no when he wordlessly asks my permission to go fetch it.

With a bit of difficulty, I help him sit on the saddle right in front of me. He takes so much space, so I scoot back and, not surprisingly, still have some space left for myself. While Max is considered a stick by all health standards, he's actually Fat Albert compared to me – goes to show you that an unpaid stable boy like him can still be happier than a rich boy who owns everything. He has always looked healthier than me, even though I filled up a bit in college. At sixteen, I'm sickly thin with a pale skin and somewhat hollow cheeks. I can easily pass for a vampire; better call myself Lestat De Loincourt from now on.

Max fledges, obviously feeling awkward and tense, his hands clutching Andrea's mane in a death grip. He's afraid of falling off, but with my arms going around him to hold the reins he should feel secure enough.

"How does it feel?" I press myself up against his back, smiling when he flinches. My chin is practically buried in his hair; some of those black strands are tickling my nose.

"The ground is way too far down."

Laughing lightly, I poke the back of his head. "Must be a new experience for you."

"It is a new experience, I told you I never… hey!" He uses his back to smack my chest. "Don't make a funny about my height."

"Don't make a _funny_? What grammar do they teach you in that public school? Besides, you're so short your hair smells like feet." Actually, his hair smells like cheap shampoo. Good to know the kid has time to take a shower after school.

"For your information, I'm the tallest ninth grader in class. Most of those kids haven't even hit puberty."

The retort dies in my throat when I catch Dad's white horse heading our way. _Showtime,_I mentally exclaim, leaning forward against Max until my nose is buried in his hair. I squeeze both legs on Andrea, with a little bit harder pressure on the outside leg. I have no clue what I did wrong, that's exactly what I've been doing all day to trot her, but all of a sudden, Andrea releases a loud neighing sound and takes off like lightening.

"What the hell, Bradley?" Max screams, holding on to Andrea's mane like his lifeline.

Whatever reply I have for Max, I can't say it, not with my teeth chattering like crazy and my butt constantly sliding to one side and then the other. Blood pounding in my ears, I try to glance behind me, dreading the sight of Dad racing after us like a knight in shining armor. But I can't even glance sideways, not with Andrea taking off in a fast jerky trot that will definitely throw me off her back.

"Whoa, horsy, whoa," Max scolds her, keeping his voice low and soothing despite the fear, attempting to calm her down.

It doesn't work. Nothing is working. Not that I'm doing anything to save the situation, can't do anything useful but boss people around. I look at Max's attempts to calm Andrea down with resentment, ever the hero, always ready to save the day. Unconsciously, I give her a lame-ass kick on the sides with my boots, and while weak, they drive her bonkers.

Teeth chattering even more, I bite my tongue more than once, feeling my backbone about to slice me in half. This is bad. This is so damn bad!

Andrea abruptly halts and throws back her head, sending us flying in the air. I grab Max into a tight hug as we fall down, landing first on my shoulder. The pain explodes in my shoulder first then my back, especially with Max's weight on top of me.

The air is knocked out of me as my back hits the ground – I can't breathe! I can't breathe!

"Man," I hear Max grunting, feeling his weight being lifted. A pause. "Bradley?"

My vision has already gone blurry and my mind is a big cloud of nothing. I can feel Max frantically shaking my body, but I can't see a thing, everything is going black.

The last thing I hear is Max screaming into my ears, "Bradley! Talk to me, man! Bradley!"

* * *

Instant headache. Still can't breathe. Strong urge to throw up. I try so hard to draw some air into my lungs – so freaked out I force my eyes to open. Swaying, blurred images that make no sense are all I can see before darkness takes over again.

I hear voices, Yoli's hushed voice, panicked and shocked, but I don't understand what she's saying. Then there's an angry voice – Dad's – full of rage and concern at the same time. Their incomprehensible argument bangs in my head like a sledgehammer.

Then the voices fade and I hear nothing.

* * *

I wake up to an unbearable headache and a strong sense of nausea, consciousness fades in and out. I open my eyes with difficulty, desperately wanting to cling to one of the realities flickering in my mind. One moment I am on my wild horse holding on for dear life, the other is me lying on a bed and hearing different voices talking. I'm not sure which one is the safest, which one do I want, but I just want the constant shifting to stop.

I let out a strangled moan that alerts the slumped figure sitting next to my bed.

"Oh, you're up?" Yoli's voice comes in a fretful whisper, her tender hand brushing through my damped hair. "How do you feel?"

"Loopy." Blinking away the fog, I try to make out the blurry images around me and fight down the strong urge to vomit. The dim light isn't really helping, but I can tell I'm in my bedroom. Looking at Yoli's worried face, I say with a hoarse voice, "Gosh, what happened?"

"You've been passed out for a whole day. The doctor says you've dislocated your shoulder. But you'll be able to go back to school after three days of rest."

I give a weak nod and close my eyes again, letting her gentle strokes on my hair loll me back to sleep.

* * *

By the third day, I feel much better, sitting in bed with a tray filled with food on my lap. After three days of not eating much, my appetite is on high. I've already finished my salad.

Yoli is sitting on a chair next to my bed with a magazine in her hands, giving me one of those girly quizzes. Apparently I'm not boyfriend material. Oh, well. Moments like this make me feel grateful to have Yoli in my life. She's always been there for me. She literally has been sitting by my side since the accident.

I haven't seen my dad once, even though I swear I heard him arguing with Yoli when I came out of my coma for a second three days ago. I've talked to Yoli about it, and noted how her features darkened, but she never answered me. For now, I stopped asking about it, to her relief, but once I'm out of this bed I'll be on this case.

"Are we ready to go back to school tomorrow?" she asks lightly, putting the magazine aside.

"Anything just to get outta bed."

I'm about to take my first sip of the chicken soup when I hear someone knocking on my door. "Come in," I say, putting my spoon down on the tray, and stare at the door expectantly.

The person who walks in isn't my father, but Goofy. The relief that fills me upon seeing Goofy instead of my father doesn't really make me happy. It just doesn't sound right.

"Hey, Mr. Goof." The man looks like he just came back from a funeral; I'd have believed that's the case has it not been for the stable overalls he's wearing. "Where's Max? Yoli tells me his injury wasn't as serious as mine."

He takes off his cap and holds it to his chest somewhat solemnly. "How do you feel, Bradley?"

"I'm fine," I say with an unsure tone. He hasn't answered my question and he looks way too serious for himself.

"I'm glad to know…" he trails off and casts a nervous glance at Yoli, who looks back at him with a stern scowl.

_What the hell is going on?_Then it hits me, what if Yoli was lying to me? What if Max's condition was worse than mine?

"Is Max all right?" I ask, feeling the same pangs of fear and guilt I felt back at that doomed hospital when Max had hurt his spine because of _me_.

"Goofy, you're not supposed to be here," Yoli says harshly. "Get out before Mr. Uppercrust returns."

My gaze drops from Goofy's troubled face to his hands clutching the cap tightly. "I have to tell him."

"No, you don't. Don't you see he's having lunch?"

"What's going on?" Now I'm really freaked out. Please, tell me Max didn't die. Please, tell me I didn't cause someone to be killed.

"Bradley…"

"Goofy!"

"Yoli, let him speak," I snap at her, more out of fear than frustration. She can see how terrified I am and relents, nodding for Goofy to speak before joining her fists and resting her forehead on them in apparent exhaustion.

I look back at Goofy, feeling my heart about to burst, hoping with all my heart that whatever he's going to say doesn't deserve all this drama.

"Bradley, Mr. Uppercrust has locked Max in the basement for the past three days. I haven't seen him since then. And I heard he's not allowed to eat or even use the bathroom…" a broken sob interrupts the rest of his sentence, and Goofy ends up sagging onto his knees and resting his head on my bedroom floor.

I'm not sure if that's better or worse, but for the meantime I'm so repulsed I think I'm gonna puke. "What? Why?"

He lifts his head up, thick tears on his cheeks. "I know it's Max's fault, but my boy is starving down there…"

I whip my head to Yoli, my eyes wide with disgusted shock. "Yoli, is this true?"

She nods gravely. "I tried to talk your father out of it, but when he puts his mind to something no one can persuade him otherwise."

At the betrayed look on my face, she directs her gaze downward in shame. She lied to me. She told me Max was all right, working at the stable with his father and that he was mostly supporting minor bruises from the fall. She lied to me.

I look down at my fancy tray, filled with all sorts of fancy food, and the urge to vomit intensifies. "Take this to Max."

Yoli sighs. "Bradley…"

"Take this to Max," I insist with a hard stare. A part of me hates her for lying to me, and I can see from her expression that my feelings are reflected on my face. "I lost my appetite."

"The key is with your father. We don't have it."

Our hard gazes meet, and then hers gradually dissolves into an apologetic one and she loses the eye contact.

"I'd like to be informed of my father's return," I tell her with a dry tone. My expression softens into sympathy when I look at Goofy. "Mr. Goof, don't you worry. Max will return to you tonight."

He gives me a hopeless little smile through his tears and follows it with a shaking nod.

* * *

My father's bedroom door. Determined knocks. When I hear his voice telling me I can come in, I open the door without hesitation. He's already in his black robe, sitting on the couch with a book in his hands. He startles the second he sees me and rises up to his feet at once.

"Bradley, you shouldn't leave your bed."

Still in my pajamas, haven't changed them all day, I probably still look a little pale and sick. I don't give him the satisfaction of playing the concerned parent card, taking a definite step forward.

"Why did you lock Max in the basement?"

He lowers his glasses to show his bulging eyes that have always left me weak-kneed, but I stand before him with a strange sense of power, something I've rarely felt in his presence.

"Who told you?"

"It doesn't matter," I answer coldly. "This is a new low, even for you, Dad. How could you do that? You're wanna have that kid starved to death?!"

He throws the book on the couch. "He needed to be punished."

My lips twist in disgust. "For what?"

"For almost killing you!"

"That wasn't his fault. It was entirely mine."

"Don't protect him. He confessed to it."

I stare at him with wide eyes, wondering if I heard him wrong. "Confessed?"

He takes off his glasses and rubs on his forehead in exhaustion, having just come back from numerous meetings; he doesn't appear to be in the mood to deal with me. "He told me everything. He told me how he rode the mare without permission and how he fell on you due to his incompetence."

The shocked stare hasn't left my face, my mind trying to process what I just heard. "Max said that?"

"Yes." He puts on his glasses again and sits on the couch, taking the book in his hands.

I approach him until I'm standing right next to him. "Dad, that wasn't what happened. I forced him to ride with me. He told me it was a bad idea, but I insisted. Andrea went wild because of me. We fell off of her together."

He gives me a look, obviously doesn't believe a word I said. "Why the hell would he lie about it?"

"I don't know," I say pensively, so many thoughts start to cram in my mind but I shake them off. "But he shouldn't be locked down there. He did nothing wrong."

He meets my determined gaze for a second and then returns to his book.

"Dad." I snatch the book out of his hands and extend my palm to him. "The key."

* * *

This is much worse than I thought. I've never been to the basement before, always preferred the outside of the mansion where I can be closer to the freedom on the other side of the gates than delving even more into the inside. There are so many rooms in the basement as if I'm looking at the crypt of Dracula.

I snap out of my thoughts, following Yoli into one of the doors where I see a bunch of metal doors with small slots – like we just walked into some Russian prison. With her hands busy holding a tray containing a sandwich and a glass of water, Yoli stands next to one of the doors and nods her head at it – Max's cell. My fist squeezes on the key for a second before I unlock the door. I'm greeted with nothing but black before the light storms in from outside. There's no window, no furniture, just four dark walls like the inside of an empty cube only disturbed by the figure lying on the floor.

My stomach starts to lurch from the stench of urine filling the place. I cover my nose with my hand, the assaulting smell about to make me vomit. Yoli pushes me out of the way and rushes toward Max's still form on the floor.

She puts down the tray and starts shaking the boy gently. "Max, Max."

I'm still standing in my spot by the door, afraid to take a step inside, afraid to look at repercussions of what my father did. For the first time in my life, I am ashamed of my old man. I've always been scared of him, angry, hurt, but never ashamed – how could he do this? How could he be such a heartless monster?

The same heartless monster I was when I had ordered my Gamma men to set the traps for the other teams in the last College X-Games. _Like father, like son._ The sight of the injured never bothered me before, like I'm sure the sight of Max right now won't bother my father. But it bothers _me_. I feel as guilty and angry as I was back at the hospital when Max had injured his spine.

There's no doubt about it. I'm starting to… _care_. I care about him. Been caring about him for a while. I care so much I can't move an inch forward in fear that the sight of him will send me into another coma.

So, I just stand by the door, watching Yoli holding Max into her arms and taking the glass of water to his lips. "There, have some water…"

Small sips, not too much, she makes sure he doesn't swallow it all inside. "We brought you a sandwich," she says. "Thought it was best you eat a light meal at first."

Such a mess. I turn around and give them my back, my shoulders shaking violently. All I want at the moment is to drag him into the bathroom, shove him into the shower and wash the sweat and stale urine off his body. All I wanna do is help.

Yoli's soft encouraging voice instructing Max as he eats the sandwich soothes my raging emotions a little. I close my eyes and drown in her motherly voice, letting it take me away to a happier and safer place. Somewhere where I'm a good man from a good family who does good things for others.

"Yoli," I say after I hear her applaud Max for finishing his food, "help him to my room."

"Are you sure about this?" her voice comes somewhat hesitant and worried.

"I don't care one bit."

"What about Max?"

With a boost of courage, I look back at them, Max staring around him with lost, hollow eyes. "Dad won't touch a hair out of him. Don't worry."

* * *

Staring down at my opened textbook but not exactly reading a word, I let the sound of the shower in the bathroom calm down my disturbed emotions. I still can't get over what Dad has done to Max. The inhumanity of it bothers me so much. The whole thing takes me back to the secret meetings in Dad's office, the yelling, Dad driving a punch to the wall in frustration… what other inhuman things has he done? Am I reading too much into this?

I start straightening out my things idly, tipping my pencils back into place and realigning papers so no corners stick out. Anything to take my mind off of the ugly thoughts since reading history isn't doing it for me.

Quick knocks on my door before Yoli emerges with a pair of my old pajamas. "This should fit him."

I watch her place them on my bed along with my old underwear – can't wait to see the look on Max's face wearing designer boxer briefs.

I smile up gratefully at Yoli and close my book. "Would you tell Mr. Goof he's in my room for now and that he'll be back to the dorm as soon as possible?"

"All right." She brushes her hand through my hair. "Still mad at me?"

"I tried, but it's a hard task, being mad at you."

"I didn't want to upset you while you were still recovering."

"I understand."

Her hand leaves my hair and she starts making her way toward the door. "Good night, Master Bradley."

"Good night."

She pauses at the door and then casts a proud smile my way. "You're a good person, mi'jito."

I watch her close the door behind her in silence, wondering if she'll lose her love and respect for me by knowing the truth. All those bad deeds I've committed over the years rush in my mind and remind me over and over how much of a good person I'm _not_. Shifting my gaze to the old clothes resting on my bed, I feel my heart twist when I hear the shower switch off - _Max_is a good person. He's the one who didn't use cheating as his winning card, he's the one who saved Tank instead of rushing to the finishing line, and he's the one who took the blame for my injury. Max was and will always be better than me.

I shove down the growing feelings of resentment and jealousy, try my hardest to put on a smile when Max timidly makes his way out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel tied to his waist. My eyes catch the faint blue color on his left eye that has faded over the course of the past three days.

He takes a step back into the bathroom when he realizes he's dripping on my wooden floor, his bare foot rubbing on his other leg awkwardly. I look up at his face, a bit of blush on his cheeks, obviously looking like someone who wishes the earth would open up and swallow him.

I get off my high horse – or more accurately stand up and push my chair back into the desk – and I point at the clothes on the bed. "Hey, these are my old PJs. I hope they're not tight."

Max glances at them, pursing his lips into a tiny smile. "Yeah, well, you're a skinny person."

"That I am," I reply lightly with a lopsided smile.

He hesitates before padding his way toward the bed, leaving a trail of wet footsteps behind him. He brushes a hand over the expensive boxers and throws me an awkward fleeting look. "Thanks."

"Why did you take the fall for this?"

He looks surprised by my question and my features soften a bit.

"I don't know," he answers with a shrug. "I just… your old man kept whining about how much of an inept fool you were, which you were by the way. Still are." I scoff. He grins. "I just didn't like the way he said it."

Looking at his honest expression, I'm completely at loss for words. I don't get it. Max and I don't get along. Why would he care what my father thinks of me?

These questions are probably written on my face, because Max smiles and answers, "You saved my life. It could have been my shoulder, but you… you saved me. I owed you."

What the hell is he talking about? I don't remember doing anything when… oh, oh! I held on to him. I grabbed him into a protective hug. Maybe I do have hero genes in my blood, or maybe it was just was a survival instinct. I was just clinging to the last shred of safety. Man, he looks so grateful it makes me feel a bit embarrassed of my cowardice. And Yoli called me a good person. Pfft!

"I'll give you some privacy." I turn around and walk toward my chair of shame. Max took a bullet for me because he thought I saved his life. He doesn't know I was just a coward trying to save my life by holding on to him.

"I see you haven't used the red paint yet."

Just as I expected, my old pajamas are a little snug on him. He's not complaining, though; too busy admiring the painting of my mother.

I get up and stand next to him, finding my favorite painting ugly and heartless after the whole episode with the Richardson boys. "No, I was busy learning how to ride."

"Who is she?"

"That's my mother. She passed away when I was a kid."

"I'm sorry," he says sincerely, his eyes still on the painting. "She's beautiful."

There's a wistful look in his face, a somber sadness that clouds his features. I brush back my hair, feeling a tad awkward knowing what goes on in his head. "You, uh, you've never seen your mother, right?"

He blinks misty eyes at me, his eyebrows going up in shock. "How did you know?"

"Your dad told me." I resist and despise the urge to lay a hand on his shoulder, my hatred and disgust over what my father had done is turning me into a softie. "So, you don't know what she looks like."

"I saw a very old picture once. It wasn't very clear. Dad gets weird whenever I ask him about her. His friends talked about her sometimes when he wasn't around."

Seems a bit selfish of Goofy to hide any reminder of Max's mother from him, takes me back to Dad destroying everything that belonged to my mother – the stable and Gloria being the obvious ones. My father, however, never destroyed her pictures. I still have a whole album of the three of us in the happy old days.

I glance between Max and the painting, realizing as an idea pops into my head how much of a softie I'm turning into. I walk over to my desk, open an empty page in my notebook and seize a pencil. "Close your eyes, Max."

"Huh?"

"Just close your eyes." I look at him over my shoulder. "This is an order."

He rolls his eyes and lets out a scoff, but closes them eventually.

"Describe your mother."

"I told you, I…"

"Everything your dad's friends told you. Try to picture her in your head."

An irritated sigh. "Well, uh, she's a redhead."

"Fiery red or carrot color?

"How the hell should I know?"

"Use your imagination, Max. Picture your mother and go!"

Taking another irritated breath, Max pauses for a second, eyes still closed. "I guess, she has a reddish auburn hair color, shoulder length and very soft. She's also got bangs covering her forehead. Uh, her eyes are blue and her nose is small, a pointy small nose… eh, she's thin."

"You go really poetic with your description, stable boy."

"Get lost. Can I open my eyes now, _Master_?"

I put down the pencil and close my notebook, turning around and leaning against my desk. "Open them, you dork. I was trying to do you a favor."

Max scoffs a laugh. "Dude, don't even bother." He does that thing with his hand on the back of his neck, the sign of an embarrassed, awkward Max. "So, um, I should probably leave."

He searches around the room for something, probably his clothes, but then decides to pad his way toward the door.

"Oh, you want shoes?" I fetch him my slippers and hand them to him.

An embarrassed smile. "Again, uh, thanks for, you know."

I shake my head. "Take them. I don't want them back."

"That wasn't… uh, well, okay." A grim expression takes over his face as he walks out of my room.

Man, I must have sounded like an arrogant fool! He was thanking me for getting him out of the basement, not the shoes. He's one of the proudest people I know and I just hit him where it hurts. This whole nice guy stuff is so lost on me. Yoli was out of her wets. I can never be a good guy.

Walking over to my desk, I open my notebook and read the description of Max's mother again, trying to picture her in my head. I faintly remember Goofy saying I have the same small nose as his late wife. Maybe that can…

"What are you doing here?"

"Shit!" I hear my father's angry voice coming from outside. Without thinking, I start rushing toward the door, only to stumble over my chair and crash down to the floor.

"Turn around!"

"Sir, please…" Max's scared voice gives me the will to jump to my feet despite the pain in my chest and knees and limp my way toward the door.

"I said turn around."

My heart is thumping like thunder as I start hopping down the hall, skipping steps when I hear the sound of Dad's leather belt tearing at Max's flesh. I find them standing near the stairs, my father littering Max's exposed back with marks. The kid recoiling with each blow, eyes squeezed shut, teeth biting his lower lip, hands barely lifting up the silk pajamas. I watch my father not holding back, driving one blow after another, and suddenly my stomach does the flips like an Olympian.

"Dad, stop!" My sores forgotten, I run toward them and push Max out of harm's way.

My breath catching in my throat, I stare at the frozen leather belt in the air with fear ripping into my heart. Had Max not been here, my father won't probably hesitate to pound that belt into me. I loosen my arms around Max when I hear his soft hiss of pain and lower the pajama shirt to cover the ugly red marks on his back.

"Gosh," I whisper in apparent disgust as I sling an arm over Max's trembling shoulders and pull him into a protective side hug. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I bark at my father, my eyes not leaving Max, his hair falling on his face hiding it in disgrace.

Dad folds the belt in his hand then unfolds it again. "Watch that tone, young man."

"This whole shit has to stop! He's not your _son_." Dad's eyes flash in anger just as I feel Max flinching in my arms. I mutter under my breath, looking my father in the eye without a trace of fear. "You can't go around beating other people's kids."

He stares back at me with a face like a stone for what seems to be hours. The child in me sees him as a mixture of Mr. Bumble and Bill Sykes – the two characters that terrorized me in my childhood. I've always seen myself in Charles Dickens' orphan characters with my father taking the role of every cruel antagonist with a whip or a belt – even kind-hearted Mr. Sowerberry who took a belt to Oliver Twist's flesh after being pressured by his nasty wife.

With a clenching jaw, Dad walks away from us toward his room. Oh, no, he thinks it's over. The discussion is so not over. I pull Max's hand and drag him along, pushing Dad's door open before he snaps it shut behind him. Max yanks his hand out of my grip and stays outside – can't blame him. If Dad threw a fit over Max walking down the halls of the mansion, he'll probably kill him where he's standing if he even thinks about stepping into the sacredness of his bedroom.

I take a couple of confidant steps ahead, watching my father tossing the belt on the lonely couch in the dark bedroom. "Dad, lay off Max, okay? He works for me, not you."

"What do you see in that kid?" he asks in a controlled tone, taking off his glasses and reaching for the handkerchief on the desk.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you consider him a… _friend_?"

I'm about to laugh my ass off when Dad slams a fist on his desk. "You spend all your time with him, you've invited him to the game room with the Richardson boys and you kicked them out because of him."

"Did Riley and Owen tell you that? 'Cause that's the furthest thing from the truth!"

Dad turns around, his bare eyes boring holes into me that I can't help dropping my gaze to his hands that resume cleaning his glasses. "He's a stable boy, Bradley. He's the son of a poverty-stricken man whom house and property I own. He's worth nothing." He puts his glasses on and adjusts them on his nose. "How is it that you prefer befriending some dirtbag over boys like Riley and Owen?"

He really hates the mere idea of someone of Max's statue being a friend of mine. I'm really glad I didn't immediately demur the term when he mentioned it earlier. "That dirtbag is my best friend," I surprise myself by how seriously and sincerely I sounded.

Dad's nostrils flare upon hearing that.

"And I will never allow anyone to hurt him ever again."

With that last punch to my father's gut, I turn around and walk away, for the first time in a long time feeling myself with the power. I bite my lip when I notice Max standing outside the door. I've completely forgot about him. From the grim expression on his face, it's pretty obvious he had heard every word.

I reach with a comforting hand to touch his arm. "Let's go to my room."

He jerks his arm away and starts heading for the stairs. "No, I'll just go back to the dorm."

"Are you crazy?" I grab his arm and spin him around until we're face to face. "I'm not sending you there with those scars. Your dad has suffered enough."

He twists his lips in displeasure, making me heave a sigh. "Look, I'll just take care of them for you and then you can head back home."

He scoffs. "You?"

"Yeah, why not?" A quick glance at the opened door to Dad's bedroom. "We're best friends after all."

* * *

It's been a long time since I needed to use my old first aid kit. Three years away, yet not away, in college ought to make me forget where I even put this thing. Searching through the drawers in the bathroom, I throw a few quick glances at Max's direction. He's leaning against the door frame with his hands stuffed in his pockets, not a trace of humiliation or sadness in his passive face.

"I know you were just saying that to spite your father."

I slam the drawer shut and look up at the shelves. "Max, as you can see, I don't have friends. You're probably the closest thing to a friend I'll ever have in this house."

He shrugs, wincing when he leans with his back against the door frame. Lucky him, I find the first aid kit inside the drawers under the sink. "Take off your shirt and lie on bed."

He raises an eyebrow. I raise an eyebrow. Low chuckles escape our mouths at how that sounded. I start filling a glass of water when I see him just standing there at the door and not moving.

"Look, I don't think…"

"My dad already knows you're here, so there's nothing to worry about."

He still looks skeptical but with a firm push from me he starts heading for the bed. I stifle an amused laugh when he wipes his hands on the pajama pants before climbing on my expensive silk sheets. The idiot pushes my pillows out of the way and lies down on his stomach on the mattress.

Rolling my eyes, I hold up his head and stuff a pillow under him. He squirms in bed awkwardly as I examine the scars on his back, his muscles so tense underneath my light touch. "Relax, Max," I say softly, starting to soothe and clean the wounds with the cool water.

I start rifling through the first aid kit and pull out an ointment tube. "This will probably hurt a bit…" I squeeze the paste onto my fingers and start rubbing it along the lines of the scars. Max's muscles tense and he lets out a pained grunt.

"You okay?"

"Yeah…"

Dipping my fingers into a jar of bio-oil, I begin spreading the oil along the scars.

"Bradley…"

"Hmm?"

"I didn't get you in trouble with your dad, did I?"

I smile a little at the hushed spoken words, not really used to being on the receiving end of his concern. "Don't worry about me, Max."

"He… he did beat you up before, right?"

I don't answer him, though I suspect my silence did it for me. Sweet innocent Max, raised in a simple, loving environment, will never understand what it's like to grow up in this house. I was a lonely kid living with the servants while my father was too busy either with work or drowning his sorrows in a drink. No one knew about the beatings, not even Yoli, so I had to take care of the bruises and scars myself. My scarred back usually left untreated 'cause I can't reach the middle.

I seize the bandages and start to wind them around Max's torso, my mind taking me back to old memories I've worked so hard to forget. That old song Yoli used to sing to me during bedtime, petting my scarred back gently, unaware that she burns me with each petting. I used to bite on my lips despite the pain, so hungry for any show of affection I didn't mind that she was showering me with burning stings just as long as she stays by my side and sings to me.

As I grew up I started resenting every reminder of the past, including the song. I remember when she had sung it the day I came back from college after freshman year. I've yelled at her to stop, that wounded look on her face, I could never forget it. But I just can't listen to that song anymore. Not when I've made someone of myself in college, not after I finally stood up to my father and rebelled against his dictatorial upbringing.

And look at me now, reliving the torture of my past. Everything here is so painful it aches. Maybe it's time to start packing and just… leave.

But, I look down at Max lost in a deep sleep, something inside me isn't ready to let go yet. Draping a blanket over him, I slip out of bed and reach for my phone.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Goof?"

"Bradley, where's Maxie? He hasn't shown up."

"Don't worry. We're having a sleepover."

"I'm not so sure…"

"I talked to my dad and he said it's okay. He's already asleep. You'll see him tomorrow morning."

"Thank you, Bradley. You're a prince."

Man, I can't juggle all these false compliments, if only they know I'm doing this solely to piss off my father. I quietly crawl in beside Max, roll on my side and prop myself up on one elbow. I stare at Max's worn out face, feeling whatever left of the tinges of anger and hatred inside drain out of me. He looks like death, the trauma he'd gone through have taken a toll on him.

I let out a sigh and lie down, pulling the covers over me. Glancing at Max again, I hold in a laugh of amusement. What are the odds? I'm supposed to hate him and now we're sharing a bed together, my bed. Never in a million years did I think this could ever be possible.

* * *

Walking out of the bathroom while drying my wet hair with a towel, I grin when I find Max tossing and turning in bed. "Rise and shine, princess, get ready for school."

Max jolts up and looks around him in confusion and shock until his gaze lands on me. "What the…" Feeling the bandages covering his body, he seems to have realized where he is and what has happened. "My dad…"

"Not to worry." I shake my head and resume rubbing the towel on my head. "I called him last night. He knows you're here."

He jumps out of bed like he's been struck by lightning and lets out a loud scream of pain, probably feeling more painful strikes in his back from the sudden jump.

"Easy there. You haven't recovered yet."

He touches his back with a confused look on her face. "Funny. Last time this happened to me I couldn't move from bed."

I throw out my hands and grin. "You're welcome."

He's about to say something when he catches the clock on the wall. "Shit, look at the time! I'm running late!"

"It's six o'clock," I say with a frown.

"Exactly. Walking to school, remember?" He starts pacing in the room, looking for his clothes, then remembers they're not in the room, and eventually drops to the floor in surrender. "Man, I haven't been there for three days, might as well make it four."

I grab his arm and pull him up to his feet. "Hey, I can drop you off on my way."

"You're kidding me, right?"

"What's the big deal?"

"Your dad is the big deal."

"My dad has been put in his place." I throw the wet towel on my bed and bring my school uniform out of the closet. "Go wash your face, then pick something to wear and let's go have us some breakfast."

His mouth drops to the floor.

I close it for him and push him toward the bathroom.

I toss my backpack down at my feet and relax in my seat in the car, enjoying the cool air rushing in from the opened window. I can't believe I actually miss going to school, must be because I was able to turn my high school experience around and become the most popular kid with everyone begging to be my friend or my girlfriend.

I turn my head to the nervous wreck sitting next to me, so tense and uncomfortable he's about to pop. I'm about to tell him to chill when I notice his gaze darting away when he catches the nasty look Mike is giving him through the rearview mirror. The intense glare I throw at Mike makes him focus on the road immediately.

Having the stable boy sharing young Mr. Uppercrust's ride is driving everybody up the wall. Can't wait until my dad finds out, fireworks will blow everywhere. That's probably what Goofy thought about when he begged me not to take Max to school by car earlier – he knows as well as I do that Dad won't let the matter slide smoothly. But what Goofy doesn't know is that I won't let that freaking belt anywhere near his son. I made a promise yesterday and I'm keeping it.

I glance at Max, still squirming in his seat with his gaze glued at whatever is fleeting through the window. It was awful watching the lifeless way he'd welcomed his father's relieved and happy hugs and kisses. Goofy's genuine love for Max is so overwhelming that I just can't understand why Max won't let old grudges go. So, Goofy made a mistake and they both ended up here, the kid needs to pull that stick out of his ass and forgive his father already.

I throw my head back and stare ahead at the road. Some giant building where lots of kids walk into rears its ugly head and Mike starts pulling over.

I scrunch my nose when I literally catch the whiff of what appears to be some kid's unclean butt. Rolling up the window, I turn my disgusted gaze to Max. "This is your school?"

"Yeah…" he says in embarrassment, opening the car door.

This place certainly isn't worth waking up as early as five o'clock for, not to mention running an hour-length miles to get to it before first period. Maybe I'll ask my father to enroll Max to my school – now _that _will be fun to see.

"Shit!" Max slams the door shut and ducks.

I duck with him. "What?"

"It's him."

"The bully?"

"Yeah."

I peer from his window and notice a badboy type of guy with a leather jacket and cheap sunglasses and all the badboy package. He doesn't look buff, but then again, buff to me is a Tank-sized guy. This one is well-muscled but very thin and he doesn't look an inch taller than me. Max shouldn't be scared of him.

I tug on Max's shirt. "Let's go."

"What?" he yelps in a very high-pitched voice.

"I'd like to meet Jack. Your friend is Jack, right?"

"You're walking me into school?" Max's high pitched-voice gets even higher.

I lift an eyebrow. "Why not?"

His gaze darts between me and the kids outside. "He… they…"

"See that's your problem, you care too much what people think of you. The heck with them."

He grabs me by the collar and tries to shake some sense into me. "He's gonna beat us both."

I get out of his death grip with a struggle and scoff in offense. "I'm not gonna get beat up by a ninth grader."

"He's a senior."

I look at the bully again, noting how he suddenly got bigger and tougher than first glance. "So what?" I say with false bravery.

Max narrows his eyes at me, but I don't crack under his intense stare. Instead I push the door open and drag him outside. "Let's take our chances."

"We're so gonna get beat up."

* * *

"Gawrsh, Bradley, you look worse than Max."

I stand before Mr. Goof in the stable with a black eye, a swollen cheek and a torn lip. Yoli almost fainted when she saw me and demanded to call my school to yell at someone for leaving me unattended. The nurse at my school had been very insistent about taking care of the damage that is my face, but I refused wholeheartedly. I walked into King's Academy a hero, everybody awed by the war scars on my face. No one was going to take that away from me.

I give Goofy a croaked-tooth smile. "By that, I assume Max is already back from school?"

"He's in his room. Don't know what's keeping him late. He told me he missed Andrea."

"_I_missed Andrea." I'm already walking toward my lovely brown horse and pulling her into a tight hug. "Come here, girl!"

"She's missed you both very much. I could tell," Goofy said, smiling down at me.

I rub my cheek against hers, returning Goofy's smile with a happier one. The man's eyes get a bit misty and he lays a hand on my shoulder. "Bradley…" he trails off, his hand leaving my shoulder and scratching the back of his neck in an imitation of his son.

I let go of Andrea and look up at him with an encouraging nod.

"I really appreciate you looking after Max. It means a lot to me."

I swallow at his look of gratitude and at that moment there's nothing I wish for but for Max to make up with his father.

Speaking of the devil, he's standing at the door with a sorrowful expression on his face. Did he hear what his father had said? Will they finally reconcile?

"Oh, hey," I say with a wave.

"We need to talk," he says gravely and walks away. I share a confused look with Goofy before following him outside.

I grimace in irritation by the hot weather, summer is already here. Maybe Max and I can take a dip in the pool. That'll be fun. I find him standing awkwardly behind the stable, feet shuffling in the dirt.

"What is it?"

He throws me a sad fleeting look before bringing something out of his pocket.

I stare at the shiny gold in shock. "The gold sun?"

"I found it in my room a while ago. I didn't say anything 'cause you stopped bringing it up. But then…" He shrugs. "I have no idea how it ended in my room. I still think you put it there on purpose to humiliate me."

I take it from his hand and stare at it in a mixture of confusion and disappointment. I hadn't thought about it for a while and now that it's in my hand I just… I don't….

Max's sigh brings me back to the present. "I'm still at odds with my dad, but that doesn't mean I'd let anyone hurt him."

_What's he talking about? Who would want to hurt Goofy?_ I furrow my eyebrows in confusion. He gives me a look. _What? Me? I'd never… oh._I remember my first conversation with Max in this reality, threatening him in his own bedroom. Man, I was such a jerk.

Max looks up at me with a brave, resolved face. "You wanna a slave, you got one." He falls on his knees and kneels at my feet, bringing his lips to my leather boots.

I jump back, electrified with shame and embarrassment. "Stop!"

He blinks up at me in confusion.

"The bet is off, Max!" I'm suddenly hit by an unwanted déjà vu of Champaign Max saying the exact same words to me after he won the College X-Games. "Right now I'm much more interested in learning the right way to groom Andrea."

"You serious?"

"Sadly, it'll take me a few more days before I could ride again. So, a man's gotta take his chances."

Max points at his bruised face then at mine. "I think you've done enough chance-taking for one day."

I let out a soft laugh and extend my hand to him. He smiles back and takes it, letting me pull him up to his feet. As he leads the way toward the stable, I glance down at the gold sun in my hand and then shove it into my pocket.

I'm not ready to leave yet.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Last day at school is over, and hello, summer vacation! Unzipping my backpack and holding it upside down, I watch a year worth of insufferable books and notebooks tumble out of the bag and onto the floor. I don't really see why Yoli can't wait a day or two to wash my school bag and uniform. Those charity people aren't gonna disappear overnight.

A shiny object slips out of the backpack and lands on the pile of books on the floor, and my smile of joy wavers. I've had the gold sun in my backpack for the past four days, ever since Max had given it to me. I'm supposed to be out of here, to whatever is waiting for me in the third timeline, but everything is going so well in this one that I haven't had the heart to leave yet.

I finally made peace with Max. We're becoming friends of some sort, which turned out to be more… well, peaceful. Guess I'm sick and tired of playing villain and trying to outshine him at his game when I know deep down that he'll always be the more skilled one. A hard truth that was even harder to accept, but letting go of those old grudges was a definite relief. I'm just glad I was able to get it right with Max.

But, is it enough of a reason to stall my stay? How long am I planning to stay in this timeline? Surely not forever. Of course, not.

I pad on my bare feet to my dresser and take out the gold necklace from inside the drawer. I put it on and look at myself in the mirror; the pale, thin face of an anorexic kid. God, I look awful, no wonder girls didn't look at me twice in high school. But, high school was over long ago. I'm a different person now. I'm not meant to be here. My real place is at college, getting ready for the finals and enduring ridicule from everyone on campus while watching Max receive all the love and respect.

Hearing solid knocks on the door – Yoli, – I sling the empty backpack on one shoulder and gather up the old school uniform from the floor. I swing the door open, but stop myself immediately when I'm about to throw my things at…

"Dad?"

Unfortunately, I've yet to make things right with my old man. If only our issues are as simple as a skateboarding rivalry.

I can see the change of emotions on his face when he notices the denim overalls I'm wearing. He's probably wondering how they even made it into my closet. His eyes narrow at the moon-shaped necklace, and I clutch it nervously without thinking. Shit, I should have taking it off before opening the door.

"Figured since I can't ride Andrea yet," I explain why I'm wearing the overalls while stumbling backwards into my room to unload what I'm carrying on the desk. I take off the necklace and rush to the dresser, tossing it inside and pushing the drawer shut.

Turning around, I notice he's wearing his riding clothes and frown up at him. "You're heading to the stable, too?"

"Yeah, it's a beautiful summer day. I thought we should spend it together." He put on his black helmet and flashed a smile my way.

"What part of can't ride Andrea yet didn't you understand?"

"We can walk the horses around the estate."

I brush a hand through my hair, feeling uncomfortable with that hopeful glint in his eyes. "Actually, Dad, I thought I'd spend the day learning more about grooming and saddling my horse."

"Why would you wanna do that when your horse already has someone taking care of it?" He casts a disapproving stare at the books and papers scattered on the floor.

I rush to clear up the mess, but the books I'm carrying keep dropping to the floor as I bend to pick up more. "Taking care of the horse makes the two of you closer, Dad." I almost step on the gold sun, but catch myself in time and pick it up as quickly as possible and put it in my pocket. "I'm gonna have…"

"Max is going to teach you," he says it casually, no trace of jealousy or disdain in his voice.

I give a simple nod, feeling a bit uneasy.

"All right then," he says in a quiet tone and leaves.

I drop the books I'm carrying on the floor and hurry out to follow him. I stop in my tracks when I catch him walking past the stairs and straight back to his bedroom.

* * *

After the long thirty minutes I've spent petting Andrea and laughing at Goofy's antics in the stable, waiting patiently for Max to show his face, I finally decide to go to the servant dorms and drag him out myself. Goofy mentioned something about a phone call from PJ – did not know Max can be such a girl with the phone.

I bang on the door, resisting the old habit of barging in unannounced. "What took you so long? Been waiting for you forever," I call, ignoring the curious glances of the servants passing by.

The door swings open, and before me stands a tousle-haired, droopy-eyed Max wearing nothing but a crumpled white shirt and blue boxers. "Sorry about that. I'm on my way," he says in a hollow voice, dragging his feet toward his room.

Still caught off-guard by his skinny chicken legs – those baggy pants had given me the wrong impression indeed – I enter the apartment and close the door gently on my way in. "You don't look like you wanna get out of the apartment."

"Like I have a choice," he mutters, kicking his bedroom's door shut behind him.

Those lifeless words feel like a spiny fist punching my face. I hate it when he talks to me like I own him – which I'm aware I used to treat him that way, but I thought we were passed that now.

I hear an aggravated cry coming from the closet and I hurry inside, witnessing Max on the floor tangled in his own clothes. I help him up and watch silently as he pulls up his overalls in a jerky manner, cursing under his breath while doing the straps.

I stuff my hands in my pockets as he searches around for his cap in the dump that is his room. "Wanna, uh, talk about it?"

He scoffs. "Like you're actually interested."

"If I wasn't interested I wouldn't have asked," I say dryly.

He looks back at me about to fire a retort, but when noting my annoyed expression, his grimace fades away gradually. He drops on his bed with a heavy sigh and runs his fingers through his nest of a hair.

"There's this…" He looks up at me with an unsure glance. I sit next to him on bed and give an encouraging nod.

Another heavy sigh escapes his mouth, his hands clutching his knees tightly. "There's this party everyone at my old school is going to attend… " he trails off, casting a new hesitant glance at my direction.

"Oh." No wonder he's so pissed-off, throwing half-assed remarks about the social differences between us. "And you wanna go?"

"What do you think?"

I lower my head at his snappy response, feeling embarrassed by my silly question.

Max's tone is a bit softer as he goes on, "That's not exactly what bothers me."

I look up at him and witness the unbearable sadness in his eyes. "There's this girl… I was supposed to impress her today, ask her out right afterwards. Turns out she's going to the party with the most popular jock in school." He lets out a humorless laugh. "And I stupidly thought that life over there would be on hold until I somehow find a way to return, but the clock keeps ticking and everybody is moving on and I'm still stuck here! With no chance of leaving ever!"

A moment of awkward silence passes between us before Max scoffs and gets up, fetching his blue cap from under a pile of school books. He stands in front of the mirror and combs his messy hair with his fingers before putting on his cap.

"I'm sorry, Max," I murmur as sincerely as I can muster, not really feeling it on the inside. Having Max around made my life in this house more bearable and interesting and I'm actually glad he's "still stuck here."

"It's not your fault," he says, slipping on his white gloves.

"How… how were you going to impress her?"

"Better left unsaid." He turns around to look at me, the faint blush on his cheeks eases the tight knot in my chest.

I smile despite myself, enjoying the change in the atmosphere. "No, really, how?"

He lowers the brim of his cap to hide his face. "It's embarrassing."

I jump to my feet and turn his cap backwards like he always wears it. "Now I'm intrigued. What were you going to do?"

He pushes me away and I end up sitting on his bed again. "Well, if you must know," he starts, red covering his cheeks. "I was going to perform a song by Powerline dressing up like him on the auditorium stage before the whole school."

I blink up at him. Did not expect that. "Wow?"

He points a threatening finger. "Don't laugh."

Now that he said it, I burst into a laugh despite myself. A laugh of admiration rather than mockery. "Hijacking a school assembly? Didn't know you had it in ya, thought of you as a straight up goody-two-shoes."

He gives a mild shrug and drops next to me on bed, eyes staring at his joined fists in silence.

I feel a slight pang of guilt, thinking about all the chances and opportunities Max is missing on by laboring all day in an estate far away from home. "You really like that girl, huh?"

He hides his face in his hands and whispers, "Yeah."

There was a time when I took joy over watching him in this depressed state, but now it's making me thirsty for a smoke. I haven't smoked in a while, and to think turning into a softie was my only curse.

I give my miserable stable boy a nudge on the shoulder. "So, you like Powerline?"

"Everyone at school does." He collapses on bed with his arms stretched out and stares up at the ceiling. "The party is next Saturday. They're going to watch the Powerline concert live on pay-per-view."

I crock my head and look at him as I sit on the edge of his bed, inwardly smiling at a fun idea that's starting to form in my head.

* * *

"If this is a prank, Bradley…"

"It isn't a prank."

"Ouch! My toe! Damn it!"

"Don't be such a baby."

"Easy for you to say. You're not blindfolded and bumping your body parts against whatever's out there."

"We're almost there."

I shove the resistant boy into the living room before rushing to turn on the lights and grab the remote control. I hurry back to one fledging Max and take off the blindfold just as I unmute the TV. _Stand Out_blares loudly making Max jump back in surprise. His eyes grow wide watching Powerline busting a move in our large TV screen.

"Dude," he exclaims in shock, "This is… this is…"

I push him forward toward the pizza boxes waiting for us on the floor in front of the TV. Sitting down before the goodies, I notice him is still on his feet, shell-shocked, his gaze glued to the screen. With a sigh, I grab his hand and pull him down, causing him to fall on his butt and tumble backwards.

Geez, wish I brought a camera to take pictures. Who would have thought Max can be such a geek. I open my Pepsi can and laugh at Max singing along – I remember being a fan of this song, but I can hardly remember the lyrics except for the chorus.

I drink from the cold, gassy goodness and choke on it, 'cause I can't stop laughing at him nodding his head and singing in excitement. I'd be joining him by now if it weren't for the unsettling feeling at the back of my neck, like someone is watching me from behind.

I look back at the door and freeze at the sight of my father standing there. His cold face and steel eyes making me squirm, but I try not to alert Max who's too engrossed in the song to notice anything else. I'm about to burst as we stare at each other for what feels like an hour, he doesn't say a thing, just looks at me and then Max. He eyes the pizza boxes on the floor and then soundlessly escapes out into the shadows.

Something swells inside me, something about the way Dad stared at me that I can't really place it. Why do I feel like shit? Why do I feel like the biggest scum in the world? Leave it to my dad to turn an innocent little party between two friends into the biggest taboo since cannibalism.

"Pass me the Pepsi, will ya, Bradley?"

I snap out of my thoughts and hand Max the cold can, watching him crack it open and take long swallows from it. He looks so happy, so free and at ease. I smile to myself and then jump to my feet.

"Get up!"

He blinks up at me. "What?"

"Bring out your inner Powerline and show me your dance moves."

"Dude…"

"C'mon!"

He brushes his hair back in embarrassment but rises up to his feet. We share a smile, his bashful and mine encouraging, and then he starts dancing. I try to imitate him but he's moving way too fast, copying the same moves as Powerline on TV. He must have spent nights practicing the moves until he perfected them.

I give up trying to catch up with him eventually and just watch him with amusement. He wasn't kidding when he told me he knew how to fast dance. He's really good. Makes me wonder why he never danced like this in college – would have driven me even madder with jealousy.

When the song was over, Max drops to the floor with heavy pants through the audience cheering and applauding on the screen. I sit next to him and open a pizza box, both of us reaching for a slice at the same time.

"I know this isn't as good as being in a school party with the girl of your dreams sitting by your side, but, at least you got to watch the concert with a friend."

Max barks a laugh and shoves a slice of pizza into his mouth. "Good one, Bradley."

I feel like someone who's been punched in the gut, must have looked like it, too, 'cause Max frowns at me, and asks, "What? You were serious?"

I put down the slice of pizza into the box. "I don't see what's so funny."

Max chuckles and punches my shoulder playfully. "Man, you and I could never be buddies."

I feel my eyebrows crease together. "Why not?"

He stuffs the rest of the pizza into his mouth and shrugs. "Not under these circumstances."

There he goes again about the social differences! Suddenly, I lose my appetite and Powerline starts sounding like a cat screeching. I rise to my feet and start heading for the door. "Enjoy your concert, Max."

"Where are you going?"

I turn around and snap, "To bed!"

His features mellow into an apologetic look. "Bradley, I didn't mean…"

"Well, you did. Just make sure to clear up the mess and turn off the lights when the concert is over."

I storm out of the room and toward the stairs, my heartbeat rising with overwhelming fury. Last time I felt this angry was when my father had imprisoned Max in the basement with nothing to eat or drink. Standing up to my father on behalf of that ungrateful son of bitch! Apparently, that wasn't enough. Nor letting him sleep on my bed or getting beat up by the bully at his school for him or even dressing up as a stable boy! _No_, nothing is enough for that little asshole!

I bump against someone and stumble back, falling on my butt. I'm about to lash out at the idiot who interrupted my mental rant…

"Dad?" I blink up at him in confusion. Where did he come from? His room is on the other side of the mansion.

"Left the party early?" he asks casually, extending a hand for me.

I take it and let him help me up to my feet. "Yeah, I got tired. Told Max to clean up after he's done."

He nods. "Very well."

Still feeling confused, I watch him walk away to his room. He came out of nowhere, like a thief in the night.

I shake my head and make my way to my bedroom, heading straight to my bed and flopping down on it. I nestle into my pillow and curl into a ball, cursing continuously and beating the pillow with my fist. Overwhelming mixture of surging emotions are rising inside me, threatening to break into the surface.

I toss and turn in discomfort and try to wiggle out of my jeans – too tight, can't take them off while lying down on bed. I give up eventually and lay still, stretching my arms and gazing up at the ceiling, imitating Max earlier this week. The thought about him and my dad and everything wrong in this timeline makes me scoot backwards up against the headboard in a sitting position and reach out to open the drawer in my nightstand. I fetch out the gold sun – hidden it here after I had taken off my dirty overalls that day.

The moonlight illuminating the room reflects on the gold's surface making its edges glimmer. My hand closes on it. A tight, determined grip that seems to have sealed the deal for me. I'm leaving. It's time to move forward. There's no use to relive a false past and try to change it for my own benefit. None of the changes I made here are making me content, not when I know deep down that this is not where I belong. Where I'm supposed to be.

My heartbeat rages in my chest as I make my way toward the dresser. Don't think. Just do it. My hand wavers over the knob in a moment of hesitation, but then I decisively grip on it and pull the drawer open.

It's not there.

I stand in my spot for a moment, my gaze searching inside the drawer for the necklace. Panicking, I dig inside, throwing out everything at sight. Now the drawer is empty and the necklace isn't inside.

Where the hell did it go? I never… it has always been in _this_drawer… but, wait!

My reflection darkens in the mirror.

_A thief in the night,_indeed!

* * *

I barge into my father's room without knocking and stand with my arms crossed in defiance. "Where is it?"

He lifts his gaze from the book he's reading to give me a nonchalant stare. "This is not the way to behave around your father."

"You lost all your privileges by sneaking into my room and going through my things. Where is my necklace?" I demand again, trying my best to steady my rage.

For a moment, I think he's going to deny being in my room in the first place but instead he puts his book on the table and looks steadily into my eyes. "I'm going to have it tested first."

My mouth hangs in shock. "Tested? What the hell, Dad?"

"Whatever spell that boy has put on you must be stopped."

My mouth still hanging open, I look at him like he's gone insane, but he looks as serious as ever. "You've got to be kidding. Since when do you believe in magic?"

"Since you started to act differently three weeks ago."

I'm thrown by this. "What?"

"Good night, son." He takes his book from the table and resumes reading. It's my cue to leave, but I can't move my feet. This is just too much, but after years of living here, I know there's no way I'll get him to talk further about this now.

I walk down the hallway, shocked and scared, and then stop by the stairs leading to the lobby. I peer at the living room where Max and I had our little party. The lights are off and no sound is coming from there. Max has probably gone home before the concert is over.

* * *

My life is completely over! I'm gonna be stuck here forever, forced to relive the next four years. I'm not even sure I'd call it reliving when everything in this reality is so different from my real past – Goofy and Max working for us being the obvious change. But then so is my school life and my relationship with my father, heck by now I'm supposed to have already rebelled against his rules and met Tank. Right now I'm supposed to be packing my bags for military school.

But none of that is happening, because my past has been rewritten by Slouch's witch of an aunt. What if whoever examines the necklace discovers that it's magical? What will happen to me? What will happen to _Max_? Dad would obviously believe that whatever evil mojo the necklace has on me is Max's doing. Last time he thought Max had hurt me he'd locked him in the basement for three days. This time he'd do something far more drastic.

I hear strong knocks on the glass doors leading to my balcony and stare at the closed drapes with furrowed eyebrows. Did I accidently lock someone out in the balcony? But other than Yoli, none of the servants come into my room and I've already seen her this morning. The knocks return, more forceful this time, followed by the detested voice of Max Goof.

How the hell was he able to climb all the way up to the balcony? How did he even know which balcony is mine? I don't remember telling him that my balcony overlooks the stable.

I snap the drapes open and squint my eyes at the streaming sunlight that frames Max's figure. Unlocking the glass doors, I raise an eyebrow in boredom. "What do you want?"

He has a sheepish look on his face, a gloved hand rubbing the back of his neck. "You didn't come to the stable today."

"I didn't feel like it."

"Is it because of what I said last night?"

I scoff, already heading back to bed. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Then what?"

I lie down on bed and take a hold of the gold sun, staring at it in somber silence and ignoring Max's existence all together.

He approaches my bed and rests his hand on my nightstand, looking closely at me as if he can feel my nerves. "Thought you'd put this in your necklace by now."

"Yeah, well, I can't."

"It doesn't fit?"

"No, idiot!" I slap the gold sun on my chest and glare up at him. "Dad took the necklace and locked it in his room. He said it must have some kind voodoo influence on me."

"Why would he think that?"

"I don't know, but it seems he's not the only one who thinks a friendship between us is an impossible thing."

"Oh." He breaks the eye contact, taking my small notebook and rubbing his thumb on the cover. "Why don't you go into his room and take it?"

When he starts flipping through the pages, I get up and snatch the notebook from him. "Not in the mood for stupid jokes, Max."

"I'm serious."

"Right." I put the notebook inside the drawer and raise an eyebrow at him. "Go into his room without his permission in the middle of day where everyone can see me."

He shrugs. "Do it at night. I'll help you."

I lean against the nightstand and cross my arms over my chest. "A goody-two-shoes like you?"

"Stop calling me that. You haven't met me in Spoonerville, trouble is my middle name when mischief isn't."

I consider what he says, watching him wander around my room and checking out my calendar. "So, just like that? We sneak into his room and steal the necklace?"

"Technically, it's yours so it's not stealing."

"What's in it for you?"

"The satisfaction of knowing that a stable boy like me has been into your dad's scarce room."

I smirk. "You're full of surprises, Goof Boy."

He smirks back. "You ain't seen nothing yet."

* * *

I stare at myself in the mirror, clad in black, pulling a lousy Will Smith impression. Or so I think. I can barely see a thing wearing those ridiculous sunglasses. Taking them off, I toss them on the dresser, too big for my face, must have looked like a giant bee. The cool factor is ruined without the sunglasses, now I look like some witless teen, ready to go to the prom.

The knocks on the glass doors distract me from glowering at my reflection. Finally, Max is here, let's get this over with.

"What the hell are you wearing?" I hiss in shock and abhorrence, eying the black shirt and loose dark slacks folded at the bottoms. "Are those your father's?"

He pulls up his pants as he steps out of my balcony. "Well, yeah, I don't own black pants."

"Max, I told you we're going for _Men in Black_."

"And here I am, in black."

I stare at him disbelievingly. "You _don't_ know _Men in Black_?"

"Is it a movie or something?"

"Is it a movie…" I blink my eyes at his confused face and suddenly realize that I'm back in time. Will Smith is probably still a_Fresh Prince_.

"Never mind. You didn't bring sunglasses?"

"About that."

Before me he presents the ugliest, most clichéd dark shades I have ever seen.

I heave a disappointed sigh. "Just toss them on the dresser and let's get going."

We sneak through the hallway, tip-toeing our way in complete silence toward Dad's bedroom. The door is locked as I expected, so I throw an anxious glance at Max and he gives me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. He pulls out a paperclip and a butter knife out of his pockets and examines the door lock, apparently to see which one he's going to use. I watch the master work his magic with utter fascination and wonder if he'd ever committed a felony when he was in Spoonerville.

Max takes a step back with a satisfied smile and pushes the door open, then gestures for me to walk in. The darkness of my father's room surrounds me, and a chill runs down my spine. After Mom passed away, I was forbade to step a foot into this room without Dad being inside. Not that I ever wanted to. The room stinks with doom and gloom vibes, especially with the black wallpapers.

I flinch when Max snaps the lights on, catching me off guard. He returns my glare with a confused look.

"Man, this room is still dark even with the lights on." He walks toward the lamp on the nightstand and turns it on.

This room wasn't like this before. Not when Mom was alive. I turn my attention to the singular couch next to the small wooden closet displaying a collection of books on its shelves. I feel a pang of rare sympathy, switching my gaze from the one couch to the one pillow in the middle of the king-sized bed. The room speaks of how hard Dad had taken Mom's death, of all my gripes about him getting rid of every reminder of her, there's no doubt he'd only done it to make life easier. But one more look at the room and I can clearly see that it didn't work at all.

Suddenly, I hear the flush of the toilet coming from the bathroom and twirl around in shock. Max walks out with a dopey smile on his face.

"What did you do?" I whisper in apprehension, looking at the opened door leading to the hall, hoping no one heard that.

"I used your dad's bathroom," he says with a smug air. "Wish I could see his face knowing a stable boy has whizzed in his fancy bathroom."

I scrunch my nose in disgust. "And he never will, seeing as you flushed the evidence."

Max shrugs. "I'm a rebel, but I'm not insane."

"'Rebel' is a strong word to describe your case." I rush toward Dad's desk and start checking the drawers. "We better hurry up. Dad would kill us both if he finds us here."

We haven't searched for long when a sudden, loud noise of a car screeching comes from outside. I hurry to the window and freeze at the sight of my father's car parked outside the house.

"Out!" I snap, turning off the lamp on the nightstand. "We gotta get out of here."

I fluster around the room, trying my best to hide any evidence of us in the room. Max turns off the lights and closes the bedroom door. I stop on my tracks and look at Max in horror. "The door is unlocked. He's gonna know." I'm shaking, my eyes wide with panic. "Shit! We haven't thought this one through."

Max grabs my arm and drags me after him. "Too late to fuss up over that now."

We hear the front door of the house shut and pick up our paces, running toward my room. When I hear my father's footsteps getting closer, I shove Max out into the balcony and shut the glass doors behind him. Withdrawing the curtains shut, I turn around and stare in fright at the door.

"Bradley, can I come in?"

Heart pounding fast enough to drive nails, I try to gulp air to answer. I couldn't manage it before Dad pushes my bedroom door open.

I hold in my breath when his critical eyes travel down my black clothes. He doesn't say a thing. He just makes his way toward me, and now my heartbeats are banging in my ears.

We stare into each other's eyes for a moment, then he silently hands me my necklace back.

I look at it speechlessly, then lift my gaze up at him in confusion.

"It's ordinary," he says.

"Oh." Then all the trouble we went through tonight was pointless. He'd taken the necklace out with him and... it's ordinary. I take the necklace from his hand and narrow my eyes at it. Aunt Broom-Hilda must have put a protection spell on it somehow. That witch seemed to have thought everything through.

"Did… Max give it to you?"

The uncertainty in his eyes makes me sigh despite myself. "Max can't afford a gold necklace, Dad. Besides, why would he give me a necklace? Unless you think our so-called buddy-hood is a gay thing."

He nods, lowering his gaze to the necklace in my hand. The air thickens between us, compelling me to take a step forward and catch my father's gaze. "Look, Max is just… he's just someone I get along with. We're not friends. We can't be friends when he's my servant."

"It's all right, Bradley." He turns around and leaves my room, but something his eyes didn't look right.

I find myself rushing out of the door, calling after him, "Dad…"

He stops but doesn't look at me. "I fixed the stable and got the horses because I thought it would bring us closer. But obviously, you're not interested."

He continues on his path, leaving me standing there, shocked and ashamed.

* * *

Max has lost it again, and the usual yelling match begins in the stable – except it's only Max who does the yelling. Goofy just stands there, taking his son's abuse in melancholic silence. Sitting on a pile of hay, I can barely hold my temper watching Max explode at Goofy over the most trivial things. But then when Max goes as far as shoving his father, I can't take it any longer.

I jump between the two and shove Max back. "That's enough!"

"That's not your business."

"But Andrea is!" I point at the tense horse in her stall. Seems it's all I needed to calm Max down as his face softens into a look or guilt and worry, and he rushes to comfort her.

I feel Goofy's hand on my shoulder and look up at his sad smile. "Don't be too hard on him, Bradley."

"But…"

"What he's going through isn't easy."

"I know, but you don't deserve…"

"Oh, yes, I do." He squeezes my shoulder and then leads Alexander out of the stable, head downcast and shoulders slumped. Suddenly, I'm reminded of my father retreating to his room last night and the anger inside me rises up again.

I walk to where Max is standing with Andrea, grab his arm and spin him around. "You better get over it soon!"

He yanks his arm out of my grip. "What?"

"So, your dad screwed up. And you ended up in this hell. And it makes you really, really angry. But is it worth it? Holding the grudge for such a long time."

Max regards me quietly before he grabs his grooming kit and leads Andrea out of her stall.

"He's trying to reach out to you, and here you are…"

"He _bet_on me!" Max snaps causing Andrea to tense again, so he starts running his hand along her withers tenderly.

I stare at him in confusion. "What?"

Max's hand stops on Andrea's back, trembling slightly. "No, Pete bet on me and my dad agreed."

"I don't follow you."

He sighs, taking a brush out of the kit and starting on Andrea's back. "You know the story, Bradley."

"I don't, Max."

He scoffs. "C'mon."

"I don't. I honestly don't."

For the first time since I came into this timeline, I admit knowing nothing. Indirectly admitting I'm a different Bradley, and Max can see it in my eyes now. Probably not the whole truth, but enough to tell me the story.

He rubs the heel of his palms into his eyes and drops down on the hay, lifting a thin strand and twirling it in his fingers. "Pete and Dad met your father at some bar in Spoonerville. They were playing some card game and betting on what they own. Pete being Pete betted on my father, who stupidly enough agreed. But it didn't end there, Pete also betted on everything Dad owns, including me. And then he lost. And here we are."

I try to process what he just said, but it doesn't make sense at all. There's no way he's saying the truth. "That's… that's impossible. That's horrible. You mean we really own you? This whole arrangement isn't temporary?"

He gives me a duh face and rises up to his feet and grabs a comb from the grooming kit.

I shake my head, my eyes still wide with shock. "But that's illegal."

Max starts combing Andrea's mane, untangling the knots in a gentle manner that contrasts his harsh tone, "C'mon, the laws of this country bend their asses to people like your father."

Realization starts falling down on me like thick bricks: Mike's hesitation to tell me the story behind the Goofs' situation, Dad beating Max with a belt, Goofy saying and doing nothing to stop him, Max begging me not to talk to my father about it.

He starts combing her tail, looking up at me with a sarcastic lopsided smile. "You wanted a slave, Bradley, you already got one. And that's why we can never be friends."

My eyebrows draw together and my jaw clenches. He gives me a mock bow and resumes combing Andrea's tail.

* * *

I smack my hand on my father's desk, causing his pencil holder to jump. "What the hell, Dad? We own the Goofs?"

He looks away from the newspaper to my furious face. "Yes?"

The indifference in his expression drives me madder than I already am. "We can't own human beings! We have to un-own them now!"

"Disown," he corrects.

I throw my hands in the air. "Whatever!"

He places the newspaper on his desk and lowers his glasses to the tip of his nose to give me his best confused stare. "What happened to change your mind all of a sudden? You knew about this from the beginning."

I smack my chest in shock. "Me? Me?"

"Yes, but you were so happy with the horses and the young stable boy you didn't object to this at all."

"I didn't? _I_didn't! I…. I…."

I didn't care. I didn't _care_. I was so happy to have Max and Andrea around I didn't care how much it was hurting Max to be some property of mine. And all this time I used to think of the pre-shift me as some sort of a saint, but turns out he was nothing but a selfish bastard.

Like me.

Guess everywhere I go I'm destined to be the same selfish, spoiled, rich bastard who never stops to think about how much his actions hurt others.

Dazed, I grip on my father's desk, a fragile attempt to steady myself. This is too much to take in. My legs give out and I sink to the floor.

Hands. Hands going around me, pulling me into a hug. Panicking, I push my father off of me and crawl away, but he grabs my arm and tries to pull me into another hug.

"Let me go," I snap at him, trying to get away. "You're a monster!" I turn around, using my fist to get away. Then I blink. Look down at my fist. Look up at my father… whom I just punched.

Wide-eyed, I stare up at the trickle of blood running down my father's lip. I squirm out of his weakened hold, edging to the wall and using it to lift myself up to my feet.

"And I'm not," I continue with trembling lips. "I will… I will never be like you."

The hurt in his eyes is as unmistakable as the line of blood going down his chin. I run out of his office before I faint. I hit my father. I hit my father. I hit my father.

* * *

I spent last night in my room, listening to my old records until my brain stopped trying to think. Everything is going upside down in this timeline; Dad suddenly decides he cares about me, but then I find myself caring more about the Goofs, while Goofy cares about Max who cares about a girl in Spoonervile, and the chain of caring goes on and on.

I don't know what to do with these mixed emotions simmering inside me. It just hurts, Goofy's longing gaze, _Dad's_longing gaze… two wronged children so angry with their parents, they can't accept their desperate attempts to reach out and fix the damage.

Andrea sticks her muzzle over my shoulder for another carrot, so I give her a gentle pat and then what she wants. I take one more carrot and feed Alexander as well. I'm glad I agreed to be out here taking care of the horses while the Goofs are busy cleaning up the stable – never been a fan of cleaning my own room and bathroom in the first place.

I wave a hand to Goofy as he walks out with the wheelbarrow and dumps out the filth in the manure pile. He returns my wave with a warm smile and a nod then wheels the barrow toward the new fresh straw. I head into the stable and watch Max cleaning Andrea's stall by using a pitchfork to remove manure and soiled bedding.

Goofy brings in the clean straw and starts shaking it and spreading it out in Alexander's clean stall. The Goofs used to keep the horses inside before my essential help, which caused them a lot of pain and prolonged the process of cleaning up to more than forty minutes.

Now with Alexander's stall all clean and ready for use, Goofy parks the empty wheelbarrow in front of Andrea's stall. He maneuvers it to face the direction Max will go to when the barrow is full. "There," he says with a sigh, wiping away the sweat from his forehead. "Think I'm gonna walk them horsies around 'til you're done."

"Leave Andrea," Max says dryly. "You can barely manage a horse without starting to act like yourself. Don't want her to get hurt."

_No, but you'll do whatever you can to hurt your father,_I think spitefully. The look on Goofy's face is enough to want to give Max a bleeding nose. Goofy must have noticed my glare because then he smiles unhappily and shakes his head no. I heave a sigh, finally understanding what he meant yesterday when he said that it isn't easy what Max is going through.

I wait until Goofy leaves, turning my sympathetic gaze to Max placing the wet bedding into the wheelbarrow. "Will you ever find it in your heart to forgive your father?"

"Bradley, my dad has been falling for Pete's traps since I can't remember. He never learns. He does whatever Pete tells him and never stands up to him, and now, _I'm_paying the price."

"So is he," I say softly.

"But it's _his _mess!" He puts away the pitchfork and starts sweeping the floor with a stable broom. "Why the hell should I pay for his mistakes?"

I can't blame him. His situation is twice worse than mine and here I am, unable to let my own father give me a hug. Not only that, but use my own fist to prevent it from happening. How screwed up am I? How screwed up both of us are? This is getting out of hand. Max's pain, Goofy's pain, Dad's pain, and mine.

It's time. It's definitely the time.

"When you're done," I start, getting his attention. "Saddle Andrea up. I'll be back in a sec."

He frowns. "You're allowed to ride her now?"

"No."

"Then…"

"Max," I bite on my lips, hating the words I'm about to say with passion, "It's an order."

He presses his lips shut and nods silently.

* * *

I snatch my sketchbook and hurry out of the room, running toward the stairs. But then I stop in my tracks, my eyes wide at the sight of my father in a formalwear taking the stairs. He stops, looks up, no sign of a bruise on his lip.

"Dad," I say, the tone of my voice ashamed and low.

He nods. "Bradley."

He continues on his way down the stairs.

"Dad…" I call after him, wait until he looks up at me. "Are you… are you going out?"

"I've got an important meeting."

I blink, my lips flutter, everything I want to say dies in my throat. Even the last goodbye.

"Do you want something?"

I give a small headshake. "No, um, take care."

"You too," he says quietly, and goes on his way.

I watch him leave, my chest tightening painfully. _Goodbye, Dad._

* * *

Max and Andrea are waiting for me in front of the stable. "I thought you were going to change?" His gaze falls on the sketchbook in my hands, but doesn't comment on it.

"Max…"

"What?"

"Ride Andrea."

His eyebrows fly to his hairline, and he shuffles his way on his dirty rubber boots to where I'm standing. He takes a close look at my face. "You hit your head or something?"

I sigh. "I'm serious."

He gives a humorless laugh. "Bradley, we've already established this. I don't know anything about…"

"I'll hold the reins for you."

"Dude…"

"For God's sake, Max," I snap in exasperated frustration. "Can we pretend we're just a couple of normal kids? Can you, for just one hour, pretend that we're friends?"

He stares at me, speechless for a moment, then lowers his gaze to the ground thinking about my request. It isn't easy after two months of being treated like nothing but a servant. Looked down on, shamed, and humiliated. I'll understand if he doesn't agree to this, even though it'll frustrate me like hell.

He looks up at me, eyes as hard as steel. "What if your dad saw us?"

"I won't let him hurt you."

"I wasn't just talking about me."

A faint smile curls up my lips. "We'll both be fine. Hey, we've snuck into his bedroom together. We can do anything now."

He smiles back, but says nothing.

I help him hop on Andrea's back – the kid has balance issues all right, he can barely sit upright. Once that problem is taken care of, Max starts looking around the place with wondrous awe. I smile up at him, remembering the first time I rode Andrea and how cool that experience was.

"So, uh, what should I do?" His voice drips with excitement.

"You asking me?" I say with amusement. "You were the one who taught me how to ride."

"Reading books is nothing like experience."

"Tap her gently with your feet."

He does and she starts walking. Max holds on to the reins with a startled, happy laugh. "She's moving! She's moving!"

I remember how he used to roll his eyes at my excitement when I first managed to make Andrea stop walking. If it were old me I'd have probably done the same – actually, I wouldn't have let him ride my horse in the first place. I hold the reins and start guiding them both around the estate. I thought it was going to be humiliating at first, but now as I lead them both around it feels kind of nice. Like I'm more experienced in this stuff, wiser, kind of like the big brother I used to be in the first timeline.

"Can we make her walk faster?"

"Better not risk it, Max." I look up at him and smile at his gleeful joy.

Everyone we come across drop their mouths to the ground in shock, except for Yoli who throws me a proud grin. Bet her delusion of my heroism is going up a notch.

We walk past Goofy and Alexander, nothing improves my mood like that cheerful smile that lights up the older man's face. He looks so happy in contrast to the sorrowful state he was in after Max had yelled at him earlier. Now I know I did the right thing.

After walking for a while, we stop in the wide field next to the small forest and I help Max down to the ground. I lie on my back on the green grass with a warm breeze blowing the swaying trees above me, squinting my eyes at the bright sun in the middle of a clear blue sky. Suddenly, Andrea comes to my vision and blows on my face.

I shriek and roll away in the grass, hearing Max's loud chuckles. I laugh as well, lying on my stomach now, using my arms as a pillow. Then a sudden pang of sadness hits me and the laughter dies in my throat.

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" I mumble in sorrow. "Makes me feel…" the sentence trails off with a quiver, makes me shut my lips and close my eyes to prevent the stinging tears from falling.

"What the hell is wrong with you? You talk like you're dying."

I look at him with a shaky smile.

His eyes widen with fright. "Are you dying? For real?"

I prop myself up on my elbows and reach for my sketchbook through the grass. "Max, I… have been working on this for a while. I haven't finished it yet, but… "

I flip the pages until I find a certain drawing and hand the book to Max. "Here."

He looks at the drawing, and I watch closely as his eyebrows shoot up and his lips part in surprise. "Bradley," he whispers in a croaky voice, his eyes blurring slightly.

I give him a playful punch on the arm. "On the scale of one to ten, how similar does she look to how you pictured her?"

Max shakes his head, speechless. "This is incredible." He looks at me with eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You…"

I say nothing. Just grin.

"God, I'm… I was such a jerk to you and all that time you were…"

I tap him on the shoulder. "It doesn't matter, Max. 'Cause you're right. We have to be equals to be friends." I stand up on my feet and throw him a meaningful look. "I don't think it's possible in this timeline."

His eyebrows furrow. "Timeline?"

I wrap my arms around Andrea's neck and hug her close, feeling a burning in my eyes and a tightness in my throat. "I'm gonna miss you so much."

Max jumps to his feet and stands next to me. "Bradley, you're scaring me."

I let go of Andrea and then hug him. He freezes in my embrace, flustered and awkward. "Promise me you'll take care of her," I whisper into his ear.

He twists out of my grip. "What the hell is going on?"

"Max, I hope one day, you'll find it in your heart to forgive your father."

I pull out the necklace under my shirt and bring out the gold sun. Max looks between the two objects in bewilderment. One last look at my stable boy and my beautiful horse, this time it's harder to keep the tears locked in my eyes so I let them slip freely down my cheeks.

And then… I did it.

Bright white light surrounds me, swallowing Max and Andrea away. Their disappearance scares me, makes me regret my decision for a mere second before I feel the ground vanishing from underneath me. Unlike the last time, it's not a quick shift. This time it feels like I'm falling down into a dark loop, drowning in it, unable to stop myself from falling down. I try to scream but I can't, can't move a muscle in my body, just falling. Falling. Falling.

Suddenly, my eyes snap open.

A white ceiling, beeping sounds, and I'm lying on a mattress. It only takes me a few seconds to realize I'm in a hospital. I look at my surroundings wryly before my eyes land on my best friend absorbed in his textbook.

"Tank?" I say in the hoarse voice of someone who hasn't spoken for days.

He lifts his gaze off the book and a surprised and delighted laugh escapes his mouth. "Bradley, you're awake."

"What… what happened?"

He sends his textbook flying to the floor and brings his chair closer to my bed. "You've been in a coma for more than three weeks."

A coma. So, all that time I've been travelling through different timelines, my body has been sent into a coma. That Broom-Hilda is one sneaky bitch.

"So, I'm… I'm back?" I sound like a little boy trying to hold into the last shred of hope. "It's over?"

Tank raises his eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

"Just… been having those weird dreams."

I watch him walk over toward his textbook on the floor and place it on a table. He's been sitting by my side for the last three weeks. I can't believe he did that after…

"Tank, about what I said…"

"What?"

"You not stepping a foot in the Gamma House?"

"Oh, don't worry your pretty head about that."

"I was angry and I didn't mean a word I said."

"I know, sweetheart. I know."

We share a smile before he nods his head at the door. "Better tell the doctor."

I wiggle slightly, feeling a heavy object on my chest.

Tank stops at the door before he leaves, throwing a reassuring smile. "Hey, Bradley, don't sweat it. It's over."

I slip a hand into my hospital gown and my hand freezes on a moon-shaped metal piece. _Oh, no! _I pull it out and it's the necklace, minus the gold sun.

It isn't over yet.


End file.
